


In a Moment's Grace

by crazyforthisloki



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst -slightly, M/M, Phone Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyforthisloki/pseuds/crazyforthisloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon, economical consultant prefers to spend his days working his one true passion: writing erotica literature, transforming himself into the very popular and talented King but when he must face the writer’s worst enemy -writer’s block- it might be some strange adorable phone sex operator’s job called Emrys to bring him back to life and face his own demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Moment's Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isyotm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/gifts).



> Happy Merlin Holidays! Cheers!  
> I do not own any of this, only in my heart. Merlin belongs to the BBC and Shine

**Part I: So tell me would you please.**

_Well, I had everything so tell me would you please_

_How could I possibly have needed so much more?_

 

It was fairly a very simple matter: numbers and Arthur did not add up. And if someone might say that was quite peculiar given the fact the man actually made a living out managing numbers and big quantities of data and facts, well, then that person was surely going to receive a slap in the face for pointing out obvious character’s flaws. Yes, he worked as a business consultant in his father’s company and yes, he actually was very good at managing accounts revolving in the millions of dollars and other types of currency other people trusted him with... That did not mean he had to enjoy what he does. And even when hating one’s job is a terrible cliché he had hoped he would be free of, at the end of the day it was his sad sad reality.

Only a very closed trusted and almost entirely exclusive circle made by his sister and his best friend knew where Arthur’s true passion lay. And they only knew about it out of pure accident and a series of misfortunes too embarrassing to explain at the moment. But even when the process of discovery had been terribly humiliating for him, he couldn’t deny the fact that Arthur was lucky enough that his sister and best friend would not judge him like he had always feared they would if they ever knew the truth and the truth was, Arthur enjoyed writing erotica fiction.

And not only he enjoyed it but he was damn good at it, as in famous-level-of-talent good and he was quite proud of that, yet his pride wasn’t big enough for him to flaunt about it to the rest of his co-workers or for that matter, to anybody else. So he had used an alias the first time -even when the thought of not getting recognition for it gave him a foul taste in his mouth for a couple of weeks- but by the time the third was published, the alias had grown on him like a strange and strayed pet you can’t help but to accept in your life. The world read the raunchy and steamy stories written by a mysterious author who no one knew about called “King” while Arthur remained in his office typing away numbers and statistics to his computer. It wasn’t the best of lives but it certainly wasn’t the worst one.

The situation only found a hurdle the moment the King found himself facing the worst enemy -regardless of the genre- in a writer’s life  called writer’s block. The gods be damned, not being able to know what to type next in the page was the most unsavoury sensation ever known by a man

“Boss?”. The sweet voice almost -almost- made him jump from his seat. Arthur looks up and finds Mithian standing in the threshold of his office glaring at him like she always does when she is afraid of telling him some bad news from corporate five floors over their heads. “Your father asked for you to come to his office at once” she says and he nods, closing his eyes trying to scare away any sign of headache or discomfort. He had been staring at the white page for almost an hour before Mithian had called his name and the clinical glow of the screen was starting to make his eyes ache from the effort.

“Will do” Arthur answers before closing down his computer -locking away any incriminating content from privy eyes while he is away- and follows Mithian to the elevator. He doesn’t exactly know what could possible have compelled his father to summon him with such a rush but it was always best to not let the man wait for him for too long. Uther upset at him was certainly not his idea to improve his already bad day.

“I’ll have an aspirin and a glass of water waiting for you” says Mithian before the elevator’s doors are fully closed. Arthur smiles hoping she can catch a sight of his gratefulness; if being too dependant of the best assistant money could buy was something bad, then he hoped he could never be good. It wasn’t as if he was completely useless without her -there was after all an entire facet of his life she was unaware of- but having Mithian to care for things Arthur was either too uninterested or too inadequate to handle was one of the few perks of his day job. Like handling meetings, going to executive lunches with other business partners, having to forcedly mingle with other people at dinner parties. The idea of having to stand in a room wearing a tuxedo with a glass of champagne in his hand, saluting strangers and feeling exposed like a nerve wasn’t his idea of fun, nor even comfort. Every time he had tried to explain to his father about his inadequacy at social events -the twirls his stomach made at the thought of facing large crowds-, he had been dismissed unceremoniously. It was easier now to avoid his father and wait for the situation to be over so he could be back at the safety and warm space that it was his flat. Of course this feeling was increased with the fact that his computer awaited for him to return but now that he had not written anything new in almost an entire month, go back home to face the empty page wasn’t as comforting as it used to be.

“Father” Arthur says while opening the door after Uther’s secretary has double checked he was expected by him. Uther is seated behind his obscenely large desk with a paper in hand and without giving Arthur a glance, he waves his hand for him to move forward. Arthur seats in the chair in front of the desk and waits for the other to finish his reading before saying another word. Interrupting Uther at mid-sentence was the sort of stressful situations his head could not handle today.

“I’ve read a very interesting article today in the newspaper” says Uther while folding the paper down meticulously over the rest of his papers. Arthur waits for the rest of the message but when Uther closes his fingers and leans back on his leather chair examining him with piercing eyes, he can’t help to feel slightly confused at the situation.

“What was the article about?” he bravely asks after clearing his throat.

“People with problems at socializing” Uther says. For a moment, Arthur feels almost proud of his father -to actually show care or concern for his son’s problem, he had never given him enough credit to do something like that. “It said in most cases the person was faking it”

He almost sinks deeply inside the cushion beneath him. “It said most of the time, this people could not handle important responsibilities. That got me thinking about you in fact...” Arthur would have almost felt touched by his father’s acknowledgement if the other had not finished his sentence criticising his work of the last weeks. “Honestly Arthur, I have received so far three calls from our clients claiming you have been either aloof or unreachable”. Arthur did not meet his father’s gaze -there were no lies in his words- instead he stared as long as he could to his hands. He already dreaded the fact he had to meet all of his clients once a week but not being able to write a single line over the last weeks had definitely increased his lack of tolerance.

“I’m putting you on a leave indefinitely until you can recover from this... Whatever this is” Uther says waiving his hand with disdain over his head. For a moment Arthur considers he had misheard his father’s words because Uther and not working were two concepts that couldn’t get alone properly. Not on this world at least.

“Father I assure you I am capable of doing my job properly” Arthur says because complaining about this -even when it was something he had dreamt for a long time- seemed like the logical reaction to portray. He had to sound outraged enough for his father to know he valued his job but not too passionate for his father to change his mind about it.

“Nonsense” his father tells him, “You, not being able to be at your best is bad for business and business is everything here”

It was as if Uther was purposelessly trying to leave explicitly clear he only cared for the company’s sake and not his son’s; if Arthur have not been too excited about not going to work for an unknown period of time, he might have felt slightly offended. “Go to HR and present this paper so everything can be settled. Then immediately go to your home and rest. Only come back when your lack of presence doesn’t signify a risk for this company”

Arthur groans like he is a fifteen year old boy once again and someone has forbidden him from riding his bike around the state. “Must I?” he asks to his father. Uther raises an eyebrow at him -obviously not impressed with such visible lack of professionalism at him for groaning like a boy in his office-.

“Certainly” he says without any visible trace of amusement in his voice “Everything must be done by the rules Arthur, otherwise we’ll have chaos and disarray”. Arthur nods quickly before the thought of second guessing his decision can even cross Uther’s mind and leaves his father’s office behind, fearing what was waiting for him down in HR.

° ° °

“Indefinite leave?” Morgana asks him after her initial laughter has dried off. Arthur has never truly enjoy spending too much time inside his sister’s office. Even though the place was large enough for her to accumulate a series of artefacts he had no idea what use could they signify, it was still quite small so any guest could feel awkwardly misplaced inside of it. A tactical decision most likely, one which he had no interest to admire at the moment; his feet were almost aching and itching from the thought of leaving the building behind him. “How terrible must you have got in the last weeks for Uther to dismiss you and send you home?”

“Can you just sign the paper and let me leave like a normal HR manager would do?” Arthur asks, no patience left for his sister’s teasing.

“Oh but you know I could not be normal even if I tried” she says giving him an evil smirk, a simple gesture she only saved when she was particularly interested in a method of annoying Arthur. “Besides, I’m sensing this might have something to do with the fact that King has not published anything in almost a year”

“I would greatly appreciate you if we did not have this conversation” he says with poison in his mouth. Not because Morgana had known about King for almost three years now meant he could be comfortable with sharing that side of him with her.

“But my friends have told me how lonely they feel without a new story by their favourite author” Morgana continues while moving her pen around her white and slim fingers, tantalizing Arthur with the fact she is the only thing standing between relief and work.

“First of all, you don’t have friends” Arthur says and Morgana’s face doesn’t move an inch at his remark -frankly Arthur knows very little about his sister’s social life to be entirely certain he is right or not-, “And secondly... Just sign the damn paper already!” he says, starting to feel the anxiety building up inside his chest.

“It’s always so comforting to see you beg brother dear” she tells him without putting down her pen from the air. Not only this looks like a situation with no near end but also, it feels as warm and nice as any conversation with Morgana could go like. “I should not tease you. They say writer’s block is a terrible illness”

“What would you know? You have no creative bone inside of you” he says.

“Your words are like daggers to my heart, brother” Morgana responds with a cold smile in her face. “But you do see slightly tired and anxious now so I’ll sign and let you leave”

She puts the pen down and with one quick stroke of her hand, signs the paper and hands it back to Arthur’s lap. She smiles condescendingly but for a moment, Arthur can almost look a trace of concern in her impeccable face. “Have you tried looking for inspiration somewhere else?” she asks. “I heard the internet has many places for your area of creation”

“I hardly think porn is the source I’m looking for” Arthur says folding down the signed paper inside his jacket’s pocket -the weight of the document feeling like a gush of fresh air around his chest. “Not the stories King writes”

“Sadly no” Morgana says glaring at her fingernails -if that is fake or genuine disdain, Arthur can’t tell and he has no intention of finding out the truth behind his sister’s movements. He is about to leave and close the door behind him when Morgana stops him. “But you know, the way the world is today, you can find sex everywhere now”. Arthur closes the door without adding another word, goes to his office and collects the few items he thinks he might miss from his working space. He thinks about Morgana’s words while he says goodbye to Mithian -who of course is already aware of the situation- but dismisses it while he initiates his car’s engine. The thought of going home and enjoying the silence of his flat beats any other meaningless idea inside his head.

° ° °

It’s like the emptiness of the page is testing him -mocking his lack of words-, waiting to see him explode out of frustration.

So perhaps the leave had not been the solution his block had been waiting for; after all, it had been one week and the only difference was that now he could stare at the open document from his desk at his flat and not from his desk at his office. He had read somewhere the change of scenario sometimes helped in this sort of situations but apparently that had not apply to his case. He was as blocked as he had been seven days ago. Apparently his problem was _that_ serious Arthur had actually found himself missing the numbers and data he processed every day like a robot. When he realized he was starting to number the lint that was accumulating itself around his computer’s screen by groups of ten, Arthur decided it was best he take a walk away from everything. Yet walks were as futile as more time to write had been before. The fresh air felt comforting around his face and the exercise did wonders for his aching legs but the inspiration he had been chasing for months still eluded him. He had nothing, not a story, not a single character, not even a small scene where he could form a net of situations that would eventually lead up to a more concise plot.

Morgana’s words start to lurk around his head as he finds an empty bench in a desolated corner of the park; people are jogging through the road near by and the scream of laughing kids can be heard around him but all that Arthur can think of is the last hours he had spend watching and watching and watching until he could do no more of porn. A convulsed sequence of images roams through his mind but he can hardly tell apart a leg from an arm or something else. He had been right all alone: porn was certainly not the source of divine inspiration he had been waiting for. Yet Morgana had talked about finding sex everywhere these days, what did that mean? Call an agency and ask for a girl to be send to his home? Go to a club on a random night and ask a random bloke to follow him to the back of the place for three minutes of meaningless action? That wasn’t King’s literature. It wasn’t what inspired Arthur to create his stories.

They could not be just about sex. There weren’t just about sex -he had made sure there was at least something else behind it-, there had to be a layer of something deeper within the story itself. It had to mean something, not random associations of vignettes showing steamy sex scenes but also a story. And characters and something where the reader could find solace and comfort. King wasn’t a porn’s author; erotica was something meaningful or at least, that was what Arthur thought. That was what he aimed with his writing. But what good could it be with all this wishful thinking if he couldn’t translate his ideals into actual words? He needed to find a source of inspiration; to very much of his own dismay, he needed to find a muse.

° ° °

It’s only at the small details of his every day life that he realizes how much he misses Mithian’s constant diligence and helping hand like having to endure a never ending queue to get his coffee. Normally speaking, his cup of coffee always appeared on top of his desk every morning and he never truly worried too much over the nature of Mithian’s work to get the cup for him -it was now he understood the terrible sacrifice his assistant had to face every morning. To be so close and so exposed to a large group of grumpy people -everyone equally needy of a shot of caffeine through their veins- definitely did not contribute to his bad mood. He had actually considered early in the morning the idea of calling Mithian and having her collecting his coffee for him but not even he was that big of a bastard. She already had taken the like of stopping by early in the afternoon to refill his empty kitchen but to wake her up just because he didn’t enjoy facing big groups of people wasn’t a reasonable excuse.

The barista hands him over his coffee when he notices it for the first time: the small loose sheet of paper tugged in between the empty cups at the very edge of the trash can. The colours were bright -a hint of red and golden- but the most alluring quality had been the words. _Hot and Steamy Phone Line - Open 24/7-._ Of course at first he pretends he doesn’t notice anything, takes the cup with him and leaves to a table near the window; he opens his bag and takes out a note and pen -foolishly thinking that perhaps inspiration might struck him while he enjoys a cappuccino- but his eyes inadvertently flash through the edges and back to the where the trash can lays. Arthur scratches his head and finishes his drink before he gets up and walks to the distant corner; hoping no one would notice his strange actions -someone passing by and asking him what is he doing being one of his top nightmares at the moment-, he grabs the piece of paper and jolts quickly back to his table. He doesn’t even give a second look to it, puts all of his belongings back to his bag -the page still mockingly empty- and dropping away the empty cup, returns back home. He can’t seem to shrug of the notion he has done something forbidden; he can’t seem to stop the shy grim from forming in his face at the thought of that.

He can either blame on the caffeine or to some bizarre hormonal change but when he gets back to his flat, Arthur takes the paper still waiting for observation inside his pocket and tosses it far away from him. It ends up landing on the closest cushion of his sofa, the colours and words shining by comparison with the paleness of the fabric. Arthur starts to chuckle at the sudden realization: he ought to be the most shy and awkward erotica writer in the history of everything. If only his editor knew how badly he struggled with the notion of facing the possibility of calling a phone sex line, she might as well fire him without a second consideration.

Finally Arthur sits down and examines more properly the advert. _Talk any time you want with our gods and goddesses and find the company and comfort you have been waiting for._ The agency apparently called “Avalon’s Greatest Boys and Girls” confusedly yields a red dragon in their logo and every words seems to have been written with golden glitter instead of normal paper ink. The three sets of different numbers wait below the picture of a random girl wearing nothing but a thin sheet over her curvy body and Arthur wonders for a moment if perhaps the woman’s face of lust and desire might be the inspiration he had been seeking for. Yet something tells him deep down his gut that she -sadly- is not.

He plays with the phone in his hand for a couple of seconds before he can start to actually process what he is going to do next. Is not as if he is doing something illegal and is not as if he is some sort of prude -he does, after all, makes a second living of being explicit and poetic about the different ways two people can find comfort and satisfaction with one another. If anything can be understood from the situation is that Arthur has every right to make the call and if it doesn’t work, at least he had tried. He can hear the small beeping sound from the other side while he asks himself what he can possible be looking to get from this. Would he just interview one of this “gods” or “goddesses” to try to learn their craft? Even the single mention of learning the craft indeed makes his stomach twirl inside of him. Curse his lack of social abilities to face the sexual nature of life in a public manner.

“Well hello there” a velveteen voice tells him from the other end. She sounds sweet and alluring, as if somebody might be caressing his ear with a small feather. Arthur can tell she was certainly born for the job. “Hello” he says, not quite certain what he should say; is not like he could just say “Yes hello, I’m here for the sex” -that could never do in this business and the woman might laugh at him for it. Besides having to add been laugh by the phone sex operator to the list of his personal shames would be too painful for him to acknowledge.

“What can we do for you here in Albion lover boy?” she asks him. What can you do for him indeed is the million dollar question here. A several number of possibilities start to flow around Arthur’s mind from the straight forward approach of “I’m a writer and I need information” to the sulking approach of “You tell me”. In the end he decides the best shot at this game might be the easiest one: honesty.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never done this before” he says and hopes she might not laugh too hardly at his incompetence. She doesn’t -probably because laughing at awkward men might be, and to quote his father in this, “bad for business”- and instead provides Arthur with a kind explanation of the services Albion can provide for his pleasure. “We have boys seeking girls, boys seeking girls and boys seeking others. What are you looking for?”

He actually hesitates at the moment he is posed with the question. What is he looking for? Sadly, Arthur realizes, he might as well take anything he can have at the moment. “Boys” he says and after what seems like a very awkward -and nerve-wrecking- couple of moments, the woman dispatches him through a second line.

“ _How will you pay for your session? Press one for Credit Card, press two for other_ ” the mechanical voice tells him. Arthur presses one and with some shred of regret and nervousness, types away his credit card number. “ _Would you like to pay extra and receive our deluxe service edition? Press one for it, press two to proceed_ ”. Deluxe edition, something special -better than the rest-. Arthur is not a common man and he is certainly not an ordinary writer; his stories are praised worldwide in the circles where his stories can be appreciated. In his head, Arthur deserves the best because he knows he is capable of doing the best with his own skills. Sounds simple enough. He presses one.

“Welcome to our Delux Palace here in Albion”. A man’s voice now replaces the previous woman; he sounds alluring enough to wake Arthur’s interest but his voice is not quite around the tone he prefers in his men. Is not playful enough -he can’t see a full character out of this, not yet at least- but he complies for the moment. “What do you want?”

“What can you offer?” Arthur doubtlessly asks, doing his best to convey a flirty and mischievous tone but that has never been his forte in both writing and real life. To try and portray a sense of domain in the situation? That’s just not him.

“We have all your fantasies into one place. Do you like it rough, soft or something in between? We can turn all your dreams into reality”

The offer is tempting and the possibility certainly is what he might need on a normal day but now, the widespread aspect of the question starts a migraine on his forehead. Arthur has fantasies -from all types and genres- but usually if he has an idea set in his head, the fantasy is easier to explain; he can turn this thought into reality -fictional reality- with his words but if he has no story, if there is not an idea to work with then... The man in the other line of the phone can’t do nothing for him. “What’s the best you can offer?”

The man giggles at his question. Cheeky and flirtatious. That’s a little bit more inside Arthur’s range. “If you are looking for the best, I can give you Emrys. He is our best one. It’s our guarantee one session with him and you will never want to speak to someone else ever again”. A challenge, Arthur thinks, right, he can do this now.

“Then I want him, I want Emrys” he says. The tone is dominant like his father reasserting a type of dominance to someone smaller, an inferior being. It doesn’t sound like Arthur.

“It will cost you more”.

“Not a problem”. He knows is not physically possible -not in this world- but he can practically hear the other man’s smile through the phone.

° ° °

“Hi”

What was he expecting from Emrys? It’s a man’s voice -a human one as well- and it sounds... Normal. It doesn’t immediately send shivers down his spine, there is no cold sweat in his back and he feels like he felt the two seconds before he heard him. A part of him feels actually disappointed by the lack of magic in the man’s salute while other part feels something quite similar to relief -the idea of having to face someone as important and apparently incredible at this had made Arthur anxious but the nervousness was gone. “Hi”

“You have a pretty voice there” Emrys tells him and it doesn’t come as flirtatious, not like the operator from before but in fact, sounds like a heartfelt compliment and even when Arthur knows very well is everything but possible, Emrys’s comment sounds sincere.

“Thanks” he says. Is he actually blushing now? Now, that is something to admired: Arthur hasn’t blush in ages, mostly because he had been too cautious to put himself on a situation worthy of a good hearted blushing.

There is a slight sense of discomfort when neither of them speak for a couple of seconds before suddenly, Arthur can remember he is actually paying for this by the minute and money should not go to waste. “What can I do for you?” Emrys asks him as if he had coincidentally realized the same fact and has now remembered they are bound to go straight to business and pleasure which for the two of them happens to not be exclusive.

“That’s a good question” Arthur says scratching his head. He can see his notes and pen from across the kitchen counter to his coffee table; with all the turns and button pressing he had almost forgotten this was a research call. He almost forgets about his own volatile muse.

“I’m here to do anything you want”

“As long as I pay” he says before he can even considerer biting down his tongue. Clearly he won’t make too much progress now that he can’t even control his own words but, Arthur knows and so he thinks about it, he has no spoken lies. Sex operators fulfilling fantasies for everyone indiscriminately only judging a client by their bank accounts, that is the truth.

“Nothing is free in life but you already know that, don’t you?”. Emrys’ voice has turned now from the kind and inviting tone of his initial compliment to a more cheeky facet. As if he was actually amused by Arthur’s response. “What are you here for?”. Now his words had lost the mischievous tone of three seconds before and come back to being like genuine concern -it’s frustrating, the twists and turns he makes, Arthur can’t truly pinpoint one way to describe him like he usually does with his characters. But then again, Emrys is no character of his.

He considers Emrys’ question for a couple of seconds, pacing through the corners of his modern kitchen -which he hardly uses and whose fridge is only filled thanks to Mithian’s diligence- and going through the different explanations he can come across for this. Is not Emrys’ job to judge him -he would not be the “best” if he did such things- so there should be no harm for Arthur’s sake if he open up the truth yet, the small detail the other’s a stranger he is paying to listen to his words weights too much for his conscience. “I’m paying you for the minute right?” he asks knowing the obviousness of his question and coming to a resolution of his own at the same time. He doesn’t bother on waiting for the other’s response and walk across the kitchen and back to his living room, glaring to his pen and paper. “So you should do as I said and do what I want you to do for me, right?”

“Essentially, that’s how this works” Emrys said and Arthur can almost recognise that hint of amusement on the man’s voice again but he doesn’t let that to wage too much importance -besides, if he concentrated on every small aspect of Emrys’ voice, he would lose focus in no time.

“Then I want you to tell me”

“Tell you what? I can tell you many things, I know many words and people say I have a talent for small talk”. If the pleasure of the situation was hesitant before, there is no doubt left in Arthur’s head that Emrys is enjoying this more than him.

“Tell me about what you do, what this is” he says, slowing down the pace of his voice when reaching _this_ so there can be no doubt left on his desires. Now it’s a matter of whether Emrys will comply or hang up on him; strangely, the thought of stop listening to the man’s voice doesn’t sound as comfortable as he normally feels when he talks to someone he doesn’t know. Actually, Arthur realizes, he feels quite comfortable talking to this stranger and he hardly feels good talking to almost anybody.

“Are you a reporter? Or just a very curiously anal person?” Emrys says before bursting into an spontaneous choir of laughter. Arthur has never enjoyed the company of those who laugh like they should make everybody in the world know they have thought of something funny -he runs away from that sort of people as if they had the plague- but Emrys’ laughter has a melodious sound he can’t seem to dislike. “Pun intended” Emrys says in between chuckles. Arthur laughs as quietly as he can; if someone might have asked him thirty minutes before if he thought phone sex operators did sex puns and laughed like ordinary people, he would have called bullshit on that. Yet now he was on the phone with the very best of all of them while they both laughed on the mention of anal.

“Neither” he says once the laughter has burned off and they have returned to their silence.

“Shame” Emrys tells him -and shamefully the blushing returns at this-. “What are you then? Something special I suppose, unique like an unicorn”

“So most of these things doesn’t go like this, don’t they?” he asks, the idea of being something else making his stomach twist with both excitement and anticipation. Standing up from the crowd of sameness doesn’t appeal him as much as it should considering the fact he is a Pendragon and Pendragons are made to rule and be fierce against the rest.

“You could never know. Everyone is different” Emrys tells him. If the confirmation he’s actually not that special hurts his pride, he would never said it. “But you are certainly pleasant to talk to... That when you are not been a prat”

“You can’t call me names, I’m a client here” Arthur says, astonished by the easy nature the conversation has taken in just one radical second. If he didn’t know better he might as well be talking to Leon or even Morgana -the name calling was more of her style than the other man.

“Oh please, you didn’t call for the sex or my exquisite voice. You want to know things, you are different”

“I’m a writer” Arthur tells him before he can realize that that would mark the first time -ever in his life- he has said those words out loud without averting another person’s eyes or feeling embarrassed for it. “I write about this”

“Awkward phone conversations?”

“Erotica actually”

Emrys quickly interrupts him. “Have you read King’s novels? They are certainly something else in that genre”. Arthur can’t almost stop grinning at this words, not sure if it’s only the recognition itself or Emrys’ recognition that makes him beam with pride. “Do you want to write about sex operators? A case of writer’s block perhaps?”. It’s almost frightening how easily has Emrys read Arthur’s situation but the most important details of his words is the fact he doesn’t sound annoyed or cautious about his intentions but both curious and concerned. Arthur blushes for a third time and now he has done that more times in less than an hour than in years.

“Quite some case actually” he says, “But I don’t want to write about sex operators”

“Uh?” Emrys says and if Arthur thinks he has heard a shred of disappointment in his voice, he quickly tells himself he has imagined it. “I want to write about you” and as the words come out from his lips, he knows that’s the truth... Because this is the most fun he had felt in the past weeks and he can see himself talking and talking for hours with somebody without the thought of hanging up can even occur to him. And also because Emrys definitely has a voice he can see himself creating to a character of his own.

“If I’m to be your muse then... How should I call you?”

The letters are about to escape his lips -the soft whispering of an “A” and an “R”- before the sound of keys and a door opening can bring him back with one violent thrust to his own reality. “I know you would not have gone shopping even if your life depended on it” he hears as Mithian walks inside his living room with her hands carrying a couple of plastic bags “So I brought you food” she says at the same moment he hangs up the phone without thinking too much about his hand’s movements.

**Part II: The Mold.**

_Maybe it was the mold you see_

_That was knocking the wall in me_

 

“Did you just throw your cell phone to the floor?”. Mithian’s question would be exponentially less awkward if the answer wasn’t a blatant yes... Because it was, Arthur did throw it away, quite strongly actually. It might be broken now and now, he’ll have to get a new one and recover all the lost data from the old one and his number might change and he’ll have to let all of his clients -and friends- know about this new number and Uther might get upset for this because loosing a phone and redirecting all calls is not professional and certainly bad for business. And all of this because Arthur’s reaction to panicking is a terrible one.

“I had a muscle spasm” he says. Mithian glares at him -one eyebrow raised- for a couple of seconds before shaking her head in a clear sign of disappointment and walking to the kitchen. When Arthur has the decency to get to his own kitchen, his assistant is putting away a package of pasta inside his usually empty pantry. “You shouldn’t worry about it”

“Yes I do, otherwise you will die and I’ll be out of a job” she says turning around and storing a couple of frozen fish sticks inside his fridge. “And since you are on leave indefinitely, I have nothing else to do”. They look at each other for a couple of seconds before they can have a quiet laugh right there in the kitchen; if Mithian is laughing about Arthur’s lack of ability to survive on his own or about his terrible lie of seconds before, he can’t tell. And he doesn’t want to if he has to be honest with himself because he can find a sense of comfortableness around Mithian and to start to make too many questions or to ponder too much about the nature of their strange friendship would be the doom of everything. “Should I start making calls announcing Arthur Pendragon doesn’t have a phone for the moment?”

He looks to the floor -the wooden boards beneath him far more interesting that Mithian’s judgemental and amused features- feeling like a small boy getting a good scowl after doing a bad thing. And if Mithian might ever know what he had been doing with his phone, she might as well call his father and then... Just then Arthur will know what a real scowl feels like. He doesn’t answer immediately and walks back to the living room instead to retreat it; there’s a small crack on the screen -nothing it can’t be fixed- but besides that, it’s still functional. “Not for today” he says waving in in his hands at Mithian’s direction after she followed him from the kitchen. She is anything but impressed at his good fortune.

“I’ll try not to get any more muscle spasms in the future while holding it”

“Certainly”. They remain standing there for a couple of seconds before Mithian breaks the contact, grabs her purse and leaves through the door with a “Bye boss” before closing it and leaving Arthur alone again. The weight of the object on his hand starts to increase as the seconds progress upon his returned loneliness. It’s only when he sits back on the sofa he notices the flyer still obnoxiously showing its golden letters over the white cushion while he remembers Mithian, Mithian and her sharp sight. Mithian who probably saw the flyer’s content from her position in the living room.

He takes a cushion and pressing it to his face, screams for some good seconds before flanking his body over the rest of the sofa. This writing business was a hard one indeed.

° ° °

Arthur is drying his legs after taking what he had expected would have been a relaxing bath but instead had turned into an annoying moment of silence for him to ponder on everything that had happened throughout the day. If one thing can be constant for it -besides the trip to the coffee house and Mithian’s arrival- it has to be Emrys’ voice. Even though there were many, many things inside his head and everything hurt from it, the melodious and curious sound of the other man’s voice still felt as warming as it had been while they had talked. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one Arthur was certain can only have one solution: he’ll had to call again.

As he dials the number, he can hear himself whispering “I am a writer, I am a writer” as if he is trying to convince someone else of his motives. He does the previous steps diligently without giving too much thought on the fact that the voice who greeted him this time to the Boys seeking Boys section is different or that he has to be put on the waiting list before he can talk to Emrys. The fact that Emrys might be pulling the same trick of kindness and honest voice to someone else while he has to wait with the silence of his own flat, makes Arthur ever more anxious than what he felt before.

After what feels like a never ending wait -it was only twenty minutes- the silences breaks and Emrys returns. “Hello”. Arthur doesn’t speak at first, not because he might be still feeling a little bit on the edge after waiting for this, but because the voice doesn’t sound like it did the first time. He tries to process as quickly as he can if this new detail annoys him or not but he doesn’t have too much time for it. “Hello?” Emrys asks again.

“Hi” he says cautiously of what his voice might show -confusion and excitement being a peculiar mix and not the most adequate for a sex operator. Emrys doesn’t respond immediately. The silence being so strange from his side -as if Arthur actually knew something about Emrys’ style at his job- he considers perhaps his phone was more broken than he had realized at first. “Hello?” he asks again after glaring back at the cracked screen and noticing the call is still going through normally.

“Sorry” Emrys says, as if he had been awaken of a dream he didn’t notice he was experiencing. “Can I ask you something handsome?”. The handsome is actually a nice touch, a flirty one that tries to ease the tension the silence provoked between them and Arthur smiles at it. “Sure”.

“Are you the writer?”

Thankfully he had been seating on his bed for this because he might had fallen to the ground otherwise. Emrys remembered him, he actually remembered their previous -and by Arthur’s standards terrible- initial interaction. The fact he had been memorable to somebody else warms up a small light inside Arthur’s chest; genuine recognition is not something he is used to receiving from someone who doesn’t know his family name or has worked for the company. “Maybe. I don’t if it can be just one writer in the world”

“Now I know it’s you. Only that writer can actually be cocky and charming at the same time”

“You think I’m charming?”. The question leaves Arthur’s mouth before he can notice his brain has actually formulated. Loosing his inner monologue and filter is not a good sign for him; he has written characters with this trope before, clear indication they are been charmed by somebody else’s appeal. As if Emrys might be working his magic on him.

“A charming voice at least. You may be a troll in real life”

“Well, you may be a troll in real life too”

“Impossible, I’m quite glorious actually” Emrys says before laughing, Arthur can listen to a small shred of the voice from before in this and sadly, he has blushed for it. He can’t keep talking to this man, otherwise his face might explode from the excess of redness. “I didn’t think I’ll hear from you again. Your goodbye was a little bit violent”

Arthur scratches his nape at the memory of before -it had definitely being less from charming his abrupt way of terminating the call and certainly not his proudest moment. “Bit of an accident there, I pressed the wrong button and I accidentally hang”

“Oh. Not very bright are you?”. Arthur smiles not believing how easily they had returned to their previous dynamics as if they were long lost friends that are used to talking to the other for hours and hours.

“Do you always talk to the rest like this? Insulting their intelligence or lack of?”

“Right, your research. I forgot about it, wanting to know all the details”. There’s a small hint of condescension on Emrys’ voice while saying the last word. Clearly whatever inclination the man had felt for cooperating with Arthur’s writing before wasn’t that strong now. A second sting of both confusion and excitement hits his chest as he wonders what might had happened to Emrys that made him loose his curiosity for his work. Arthur tells himself is a writer’s curiosity -wanting to know what is behind a character’s motivation- but he can’t ignore the fact he is genuinely intrigued by Emrys as whole on his own. He shouldn’t feel this sort of interest for what it should be his distant muse; growing attachments to this sort of people never ends well. Yet the fact he might not worry about it at all because Emrys doesn’t remember his writing with too much fondness makes take a bulk of air so his chest may feel more at ease. “You wanted to write about me, wasn’t it?”

I still do, Arthur thinks but this time has the wisdom and enough restrain on his lips before uttering the words out loud. He can’t come across too desperate even when he actually is. The itchiness that surges from not been able to write for so long is starting to become something more than an unusual sensation and more of something of a real trouble for him. Soon enough he will start to loose the coherence of his thoughts if he is not able to put something -anything of some significance- into paper. “Maybe” he says faking unconvincingly a lack of care for it.

“Wanted to know all of my secrets, how I could make a man come with nothing but my words. How I feel about getting paid for this, how much of a disgrace it could be for me if somebody learned I did this for a living”. The sudden change confuses Arthur briefly before he can understand what has happened; any hint left of the charming and curious man he had met before now completely gone. Is not a tone he can recognise from Emrys’ previous shifts of approaches: not cheeky, not flirty, not kind. He is angry, passionately so if he might say it, and Arthur doesn’t know where did he go wrong for the other to bring out this anger. “Thinking that because I get your money from it you can do anything to me, as if you are entitled to own me when I could easily end the call at any time”

“I didn’t mean that” Arthur justifies himself. They might be a shred of truth on Emrys’ words for all he knows -he had thought before that because he was paying for the minute he was in charge of everything- but he could never reach the point of dehumanizing Emrys so badly as to call him a disgrace for what he did. If fairness was being placed on top of the table, Arthur was far from being the rightful person and judge Emrys for his choice of profession. After all, they were both two sort of people making a living from other people’s obsession and need for sex. “I’m sorry” he quickly adds before this can drag longer than it’s comfortable for the two of them, Emrys clearly not wanting anything to do with him ever again, “I should not have called or asked, it was stupid”.

He is about to press the ending button when he listens to Emrys’. “Wait!”. He turns the phone back to his ear -this turning far more confusing than he ever expected. “I should not have rant to you like this, you did nothing wrong”

“I was being privy with you. You obviously don’t want to help me and frankly you don’t have to, I’m just a sad case of writer’s block, that’s all”

“Oh, I don’t think you are sad, writer. Actually being somebody’s muse is slightly intriguing”. Emrys’ voice sounds more like it had been before, more vividly conveying a hint of light around the previous dark mood he had shown him. What ever anger the man had felt for his question before was now gone. “I just don’t think I’m the right choice”

“The other man said you were the best”

“And you are those sort of people who should always get the best?”

Arthur doesn’t answer to this, the frontal approach of the question sending a cold sweat to his back. He doesn’t like this, he had been judged far too long through his life about whatever privileges he receives from his parent or his name, people who thinks that only because he comes from old money he is a snobbish prat who thinks he owns the world.

“Sorry” Emrys says noticing his silence. “I made you uncomfortable”. The fact he can picked up so easily Arthur’s moods is... Well, he doesn’t know what it is now and the fact he can label the situation with an adjective must be clear indicator his writer’s block is only worsening. “People say I came out too strong sometimes. It’s one of my many character’s flaws”. Arthur leans back to his bed, pressing his back on top of the soft fabric of the white duvet before closing his eyes -his head hurts from everything he has felt in the last minutes; too many emotions and a not being able to express them through words is not a sensation he is comfortable with experience it. “You should know this now, so I can be a more believable character for you”

Is similar to a lightening crossing through his spine in one shimmering second. He gets up from the bed and straightness his back as if he was in business’s mode about to close a deal. “You’ll help me?”

“Well... Yeah” Emrys says and he thinks he can even listen to the man’s smile through the line.

“Why?”. He hasn’t given the man too many reasons to comply, they haven’t even talk longer than fifteen minutes total in one day. They don’t know each other -perfect strangers across the telephone lines-, there is no trust between them. And then maybe, this is the perfect aspect of it all: their anonymity makes everything easier for him to ask and dissect about the other’s life.

“Who knows?” Emrys asks, “Maybe I could be famous through your words”

Oh, Arthur thinks, he will make him a star through his book. A muse for the rest to admire, he can just feel it.

° ° °

For the first time in what felt like forever, Arthur had something written down on his notepad. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t a terrible bunch of information but it was something and with Arthur’s block, at this point anything was worthy for a celebration. Even when the only word written was _Emrys._

They didn’t talk for too long after they had settle on the fact one was going to write a story out of the other’s character; a part of Arthur was actually slightly concerned with the idea that talking too much or over-sharing at the start would jinx the future of the enterprise. What they actually ended up doing was agreeing on a certain hour where they could talk -like making a doctor’s appointment but a lot more kinkier than his usual regular check. Or so he expected. Because yes, even when Arthur had agreed on the idea he was about to create fiction out of somebody made of skin and bones and that this was a professional endeavour, he couldn’t help but hope that he might get something else from spending so much time chatting with a sex phone operator. Like actual phone sex. After all he was technically paying for that service -the information shared in the meantime was an added bonus no one knew.

After some discussion -one which totally did not lead to Emrys calling him “Prat” five more times after he had turned down the other’s options on hours- they had decided on eight o’clock every day, unless there was some emergency or one of them was tired of it. So now eight o’clock was Emrys’ time. Arthur even felt both weird and reanimated thinking about it on his head.

“How are you, dear brother?”. Morgana’s voice sounded even more dangerous through the phone line than in real life -she was already a very intimidating woman but the thought of not knowing what expression her face was making while saying every word certainly added an edge to the idea of holding a conversation with her. She had called him every day since he went on a leave and he was still unsure if she did it to gloat or out of genuine concern; most likely, it was a mixture of both.

First mistake: he didn’t answer, he hummed. So Morgana already knew something was different. “Really?” she asked and out of pure reflex -something he should have dropped out of his system after years of facing Morgana’s sharp tongue by now- he said “Yep”. Mistake number two.

“What is about?”. Arthur bit his tongue, he knows very well she is not making small talk, not even asking about his day: she wanted to know what was the story about. The germ of his idea was still too pure -and so was Emrys- for him to talk about it but he knew his sister wasn’t going to drop the subject just like that.

“I don’t know yet” and he was being honest because even when he had Emrys’ name written down, his mind was still too plagued by words and scenarios that hadn’t picked up a form he might recognised. That and sharing the existence of Emrys to somebody else when he was still so fresh was out of the question.

“That means is something good” she says.

Arthur mumbles a semi coherent answer in return -superstitions and habits too embedded on his brain for him to break it so easily-. “Say no more, I’ll get everything soon enough” Morgana tells him before hanging up leaving Arthur alone with the clinical sound of a ended call and a hint of cold sweat on his back. Morgana knowing everything wasn’t only not good at all for his anxiety levels but also, an impending fact he had no power over. Now Arthur knows that yes, Emrys and Morgana will eventually collide. He only hoped he might have more time on his own with the other -the sex operator was a mystery too irresistible for him to not crack open now.

° ° °

“So what you do for a living?” Emrys asks. Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous regarding their first session -he feels even anxious with just calling it a session. Over all, his stomach is a mess of twirls and drunk butterflies colliding into each other while puking: a complete mess. His first approach had been the professional one so he had made the call sitting on his sofa with a pen and his note close by -if inspiration suddenly strike him while talking-; that method had lasted about three minutes, his legs too itchy and his feet too nervous to remain in one position. He had paced while waiting for the call to pass through; by the time he heard Emrys’s voice greeting him as if they were long lost friends, he had made the executive decision to make this on his room. So now he lay on his bed like a girl talking to her crush, far from the professional covert he so fiercely show to his co-workers every day.

“Wasn’t obvious?” Arthur tells him. He doesn’t get too many opportunities to tease someone like he might tease Emrys; is not like he could say those things with that tone to Morgana, and Leon would see right through him and act like he was being silly. Which on theory wasn’t a problem, being silly and the happy-go-lucky type sounded like a nice thing -if Arthur wasn’t such an anxious and nervous person, he might be it. “Writer, right?”

“So smart, you should get a Pulitzer for that. Clever clever boy”

So he blushed, big deal. Arthur had realized since his first talk with Emrys that blushing with every -lovely- thing he might say to him was an obvious assumption by now. He’ll have to, like Morgana said, deal with it. “Is that what you do every day? Stalk people like me hoping you might find a story? Do they pay you for calling pretty men like me all day?”. He could clearly see Emrys’ cheeky grin he knew so well by now -even when he had never seen it and will never do- while he listens to him. Is like everything the man says is a happy comment, a flirtatious addition to the grey monotonous conversation he was used to having before.

“Maybe” he says trying to mimic the other’s way of speaking. He knows he is failing to do so but there was something in the mere act of trying that Arthur couldn’t help to find invigorating.

“How does this work then? I tell you about my life but you say nothing in return? Boring”

Arthur’s fears start to rise from their grave: what if Emrys leave now? What if he gets tired from him? What if in the end, there is no story after all behind the mystery the other man poses?. He can’t pull the “money” card to win this argument; most likely Emrys will get offended by it, hang up on him and stopped receiving his calls ever again. He’ll had to ask at some point if getting banned from sex phone lines was a real possibility or not. “You tell me something and I’ll say something in return”

“Sounds fair enough” Emrys says after what felt like an eternal silence for him but was in fact just a couple of mere seconds -he’ll have to get a grip soon about this subject. “Although...” and Arthur’s heart stopped; _I’m tired_ or _I’m don’t want to do this any more,_ his head was swirling with terrible options. “You already know my name and I don’t know what to call you”

“What’s wrong with Writer?”

“Too impersonal” he says.

“Unless what? Emrys?”

The other chuckles at his outrage that sounds more like a child’s banter than any real objection. “And how you don’t know that’s my real name?”

Arthur splatters at this -who would be stupid enough to use his real name at some business like this? People didn’t even use their real names logging into porn sites, they probably didn’t use their real nicknames either. Anonymity was something that had always worked for Arthur; he had simply assumed it worked the same way for Emrys too. “No is not” he tells him and the other laughs, sending immediate doubts through his brain. What if Emrys was really that thick and there was an actual living person right there in Camelot with his name and voice? What if he lived near him? What if he was his neighbour? He really needed to calm down now.

“You are so trusty of me but you know nothing. Do you always imposed so much trust unto strangers?”

No, Arthur thinks, just you. And it was true, he has never been so confident about somebody else so quickly in his life before -not even with Leon or Morgana, that level of friendship had taken years before coming to life like it was today. “I just assumed you weren’t foolish enough to actually do something so stupid” he says, hoping insults might clear the path for the nervousness of his voice to go unnoticed.

“Wait! I’m fainting You flatter me too much. I might blush to death if I keep on talking with you”. Please do, Arthur thinks. Where did that come from? “I need a name writer”

“Do you know the name of everyone you talk to?”

“Only the regular ones” he says.

“Oh”. He hasn’t fool himself with the notion he might be unique -this is no breaking news for him, they couldn’t be, he knows Emrys had existed in this world for a long time. Time enough to make himself a name as the best of the best as well. “How many names do you know?”

“I know what you are doing” Emrys says, complicity locked on his words. “Don’t ran away from it”

“How many?”. Arthur is not being cheeky any more -he’s certainly not even trying right now- and he doesn’t worry too much if his voice comes out like business-Arthur instead of writer one, if he actually has a voice of his own there.

“I thought you wanted to write about me. They are not me, they trust me, I can’t just go around and talk about them” the other says, dropping the mischievous ways and assuming a more professional manner. Even though they are dealing now with a more serious topic Arthur knows the graveness of Emrys’ voice doesn’t suit his persona at all. “And if you can’t comply at this with something as easy as a name to call you... Then I don’t think we should do this”

In the end, it didn’t take that long to cast him away -he only had to be himself. Is not that he doesn’t know what to say -yet suddenly words seem lost to him- or that he can’t see himself ending the call -yet his finger lingers ominously over the button- but Arthur doesn’t defend himself and he hangs up before thinking too hardly about it.

The weight of his action makes him feel numb that night even when he can’t say it or write about it.

**Part III: In a moment’s grace.**

_Maybe I'd forgot what living was now for_

_And you realize in a moment's grace_

_You might just already be on to something good_

 

“What are we drinking for?” Leon asks him when he arrives to the boot with two filled pints and a smile that doesn’t quite reaches his eyes. Clearly his best friend is not buying anything of his new found good spirits but Arthur is too busy seeing himself passing out after finishing every ounce of alcohol inside this club tonight.

“Me going back to work” he says, seating in front of the ginger man and drinking almost one quarter of his glass in one attempt.

“Is that so?” Leon says, rising an eyebrow.

Strike three. He had failed at his attempts to convince both Mithian and Morgana about his joy for the end of his leave. Now Leon had seen straight through him like a thin paper layer like the other two had done without even blinking. On a normal occasion, he might be loosing his mind at the idea of being so transparent about what he felt to the world but on this night... This night was devoted to forget about his feelings and men with cheerful and flirtatious voices. Arthur proposed a toast to himself for the sake of oblivion.

“Do me a favour Leon”. Arthur leans forward across the table and unto his friend’s figure, trying to sound as confident as the beer running through his blood makes him believe he might be. “Just for tonight, don’t think and...” he says, rising his glass up to the air as a champion with no actual trophy or sense of accomplishment. “Drink!”

Leon doesn’t look convinced with his speech -he just grabs his own glass and takes a cautious sip from it without taking his eyes from him. Arthur doesn’t care about it -at least not for now- and empties his own beer; before he can’t think too much about what his body is doing, he’s making his way back to the bartender. And a third and fourth time before he can feel his friend’s warm arms around him, surely carrying his dead body away from the club and back to his flat.

Cheers to business, he mumbles before he can let himself slip inside the dreamless state that is to pass out.

° ° °

He wakes with the sound of his alarm, cursing everything and everyone around him when the incessant beep drills a hole inside his head and the light that enters through his open window feels more like a death ray than the shy rays of sun of a lovely morning. Arthur’s mouth tastes like the darkest most underground club’s bathroom and every muscle of his body aches with the simplest of motions -so it takes him an almost never ending amount of time to try and turn the damn thing off. He foolishly thinks he has achieve it when his room turns back into the calmest of silences but soon enough, his hand doesn’t encounters the cold metal of his alarm clock and instead, the warm touch of somebody else’s hand. Arthur practically jolts out of his bed at the thought of someone else inside his home -second guessing his actions of the night before- when he finds Mithian’s disappointed glare upon him.

“Morning boss” she says, not a shred of pride in her voice. Having to make sure that he gets his arse out of bed in the morning and having to deal with a hungover Arthur were certainly not involved in her job’s requirements when she had taken it before.

He half mumbles a human response before taking the aspirins and the glass of water she if offering him, drinking away the entire content as if his life depended on it. Which as far as he is concern it does; right now, every cell in Arthur’s body has the sole purpose of finding a good source of water and nothing more. The thought of duties and purposes makes him think about too many things, disarranged items of the last days accumulating inside his head with no order yet all of them with an equal sensation of guilt and shame. To drink his problems away? That has never been his type of coping mechanism. Leon knew that and he was probably the reason why Mithian had shown up to help him get some degree of decency back. “Thank you” he says after he has emptied the second glass of water Mithian brought him in one seating.

“Let’s get you shower and ready for work, shall we?” she tells him, getting up from his bed’s edge and walking to his closet where she pulls a clean shirt and a recently tailored suit for him to look professional. When she turns around and he still hasn’t move from his bed, it only takes one eyebrow to be rise for him to get the picture. “Now” she tells him before she goes to the kitchen and sets the kettle on.

After a good and long shower, Arthur feels that at least, he is back to being human. The smell of cigars and alcohol is now gone from his hair and skin but it was going to take a longer time for the taste of old beer to disappear from his tongue. He drinks his tea and eats his toast silently, like a small child, and glares occasionally back to Mithian who is trying to arrange in some way the mess his papers make on his living room. She picks sheet after sheet mumbling something he can quite get but he doesn’t have to be a genius to get her annoyance -he clearly is not paying her enough. He’ll have to call Morgana about it, talk about some rise or at least a benefit; some paid vacations would do just fine to her. She might even take her boyfriend with her. He is finishing his tea when he realizes, he actually knows absolutely nothing about Mithian’s life outside work and knows very little about her inside work too. Perhaps she didn’t even have a boyfriend, or a partner at all. He has just simply assumed she worked for him and that was the whole extent of her life, period.

“How are you?” he asks her and she stops dead on her feet with it. He knows he can be a little bit cold when it comes to make small talk or discuss casual things with other people but he had never assumed it would be bad enough for somebody to stop dead and look at him as if she had seen a ghost. “Overall, I mean” he adds when her silence proves to be too much for him to tolerate, “I know you are not very good today”

“Yes” she says, walking back to the kitchen and throwing the trash inside a plastic bag she would surely take away with her after leaving. “Waking my boss hangover is not my favourite way to start off my day”

“I’m sorry”

“I know” she tells him, trying to reassure him he has done nothing wrong. But he has done it, getting drunk and not caring about anything else as if he was a reckless young boy on his fifteen’s. Mithian pats him on the shoulder and takes away the cup from his lap. Arthur sighs heavily when the notion that he has to leave his home now and show his ass back to his office feels worse than the headache itself. “I’ll rescheduled your appointments for today so you won’t have to see anybody but you can’t escape your father”

“Have I ever done that?” he asks sadly while getting up from his chair. Arthur gets another glass of cold water from the tab mentally preparing himself for what the day proposed ahead of him.

“Who’s Emrys?”

He almost chokes on his own fluids -certainly not the greatest way to die on this world- and turns around, hoping his face is not too telling. “Nobody” he says with fake easiness, “Why?”

“You wrote that everywhere” she tells him handing him over the sheets of paper she was set to throw away to the trash. He can see his own handwriting scribbling the letters in almost every corner but he can think too much about now. Arthur’s not on his writer mode right now, he is on his “I’m-barely-able-to-stand-on-my-feet-right-now mode”.

“Nothing” he repeats before wrinkling the papers into one big homogeneous ball he tosses back to his assistant. Nothing any more, he thinks with a hint of sadness on his voice. She doesn’t look very convinced at it but he’s not paying her to believe his lies.

° ° °

The day doesn’t go as planned but then again, he had not planned anything for it to begin with. It takes one look from his father for him to notice he is not in good shape to be in the office and to both his shame and gratefulness, he is send back to his home so he can ease away the “cold” his clients will think he is suffering from. His phone quickly starts to buzz inside his pocket when the elevator’s door close in front of him -he doesn’t need any special powers to know is Morgana, calling to gloat at him. There is only a fair amount of shit he can handle happening to him in one day. And he just wants to go back to the comfort of his bed, close his eyes and forget about the day; perhaps if he’s strong enough he might pretend this never happened and that the day next was going to be his first day back to work. Like a trial and error. He was in the error phase of it but he knew tomorrow will have a better hang of things. Besides he was now forced to do good at this job since writing had taken a turn for the worst with the end of his -very- brief partnership with Emrys.

Arthur basically plasters his face on his pillow upon arriving back home and closes his eyes, pretending he’s not really there and he’s not really hangover, just tired. He revisits some old stories he had written before in his head before he can completely disappear from the land of the awaken ones. His fingers might itch with the old sensation of writing down something worth reading for but he blames it on the exhaustiveness of his head.

When he opens his eyes again, the sun is almost disappearing through his window and his room is covered with a light orange glow that gives everything a peculiar almost apocalyptic tone. His pillow is all sticky from his saliva and his hair is going around on every direction known by man. Is fair to say that _this_ is not Arthur’s best look. He takes his phone away from his pocket -glad to see it was still working, Mithian must had put it to charge while he was still sleeping in the morning, bless her- and finds three texts from his assistant, two from Leon, one voice mail by Morgana and another one from an unknown number. He eliminates all the texts and decides he’s not brave enough to listen to his sister make fun of his own weakness; he needs food in his system before doing that.

Arthur walks looking more similar to a flesh eating zombie than an actual human being to his kitchen and starts preparing some coffee, thinking he should probably take five more showers until he can feel clean again. He sits on his sofa with a hot mug on his lap and presses play to the message.

He actually only listens to a good quarter of it before he deletes it. His brain can only process a few scattered words - _brother dear, Leon, weak stomach, Uther, upset_ \- before he can start feeling he might return the tea he drank hours before. The second voice mail lingers on his screen, the number still not ringing any bells for him; probably a random person he had met the night before at the pub who was now calling him before he was convinced he and Arthur were soul mates... Or something like that. Clearly there was still some shreds of the rose writer he had been before. What the hell, he thinks before pressing the green button and listening to it -perhaps his soul mate was actually calling him after some random meeting on a club.

_Ehm... Hello. Not sure if this is the right number, if not this will be embarrassing and you’ll probably laugh at me and tell all your mates about my stupidity but what the hell, right? Look if this is the writer I met once in Albion, call me to this number. Unless you are not, so don’t call or... If you are but you don’t want to call so... Don’t. That. Okay, hanging up now. Bye, I guess, yeah, bye”_

Arthur actually pinches his cheek once the message is over just to check if he hasn’t pass out on his way to the kitchen or if he’s unconscious in the bathroom’s floor. The way his palm was burning while he held to the hot mug was clear indication he was in fact, awake and not drunk any more. Emrys had called him, probably pulled some string to who ever people might do those sort of things and found his number. He had called him. Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of it, to be flatter and confused seem like a good way to start things.

Social protocol dictated he had to call Emrys back, at least to find out why the other one had called him first yet he drops his phone to a side of him and closes his eyes, trying to process everything. It’s not like they had necessarily had an amicable departure -there have been hardly a departure at all, he had just hanged up on him because Emrys had asked him for a name. A simply detail he had been too coward to give away. Why hadn’t he just invented something? Or just said his name? Why was it that he had run away like a frighten child to find solace in the bitter arms of a bottle of beer?

He waits until his legs goes numb from all the jumping he was doing to the floor and his hand takes back the phone. It was just a matter of pressing the button to call the last call back and know Emrys’ reasons but... Then what? Go back and pretend it never happened? Or worst, go back and think he might write about him after all. Suddenly the amount of sheets of paper that Mithian had taken away with her early in the morning come crossing down his mind like a lightning made out of pure guilt... Guilt and excitement. Not matter how things had gone south between him and Emrys, he was still the only reason behind Arthur’s new found writing desires. He couldn’t just let that go.

The phone rings for about three seconds before it picks up. “Hello?” Emrys asks -it’s suddenly so strange to listen to the man’s voice without having to dictate his bank account number and deciding he’s a boy seeking boys.

“Hello”

There’s a silence behind the other line, Arthur quickly assuming Emrys has no intentions of talking to him now and he will hang up any second now. “Writer!” he says, as if he had processed something throughout the patch of silence inside the conversation. Something about the way Emrys pronounces the occupation is enough to remind Arthur what had inspired him to decided he was just the person he had been looking for to create something with his words.

“You called” he tells him as if he was excusing himself from even picking up the phone.

“I wasn’t sure that I got the right number. I just assumed it was worth the shot”

“Why did you call?”

“I wasn’t going to do it actually” Emrys tells him and a flare of disappointment sets inside Arthur’s chest at it. “Clearly you weren’t interested any more and I though, fuck him if he doesn’t want to write about me but...”. Emrys’ voice lingers for a couple of seconds before Arthur can listen to him breathe in, like he was preparing himself to say something truly important. “I found a copy on a bookshop walking this morning. It was my favourite King’s book, his second one actually and when I started to go through the pages and read some random lines I thought that maybe... Just maybe, what if you were half as good as him and you could make me immortal like he did with his words? I just thought you might be worth the shot”

So in a way, he had been the reason behind Emrys’ interest, although he clearly wasn’t going to tell him he and King were the same but listening to him talk so highly of his words definitely invigorated his spirits. “Even after I hanged up at you?”

He hears Emrys fidgeting with something through the line -he imagines the man lingering in his own bed holding his phone with one hand and playing around with some necklace with the other one- before he can say something else. “Maybe I pushed you too hard, you clearly weren’t comfortable and I might have come off too upset”

“You were passionate” Arthur says, “About your clients, their privacy. I shouldn’t have asked you”

Emrys laughs at it -a melodious sound Arthur has grown to treasure by now-. “Clearly we are making an habit of calling to apologize over everything” he says. Arthur laugh too because with him, something as meaningless as laughing feels like a liberating experience for the soul... Perhaps he ought to write that down before he forgets the exact words. “And they are not my clients. The word makes me feel like a boring man who wears a suit every day and works on a grey office all day”. The picture strikes him violently, looking at himself inside Emrys’ description feeling slightly ashamed that the sad picture the man had painted described his life so thoroughly. “They are my friends” he finishes.

Arthur smiles at the sincerity of his words. He can see now why the man had said one chat with him and he won’t want to talk to anybody else ever again. He decides right at that moment that he wants to be his friend. He wants to be his friend as long as the other wants to.

“So we can talk again?” he asks dubiously, still unsure of the reality of the situation, everything feeling too lovely to be real.

“Make me immortal, writer” Emrys says as if he was knighting him in front of a whole court of brave and important people.

“Arthur” he says before he can realize how free he feels while saying his own name, “Call me Arthur”

“Nice to meet you Arthur” Emrys says. Arthur knows at that moment he might die with just listening to him say his name out loud.

° ° °

“Okay... Favourite board game”

“What?” Arthur asks laughing. He is eating a bowl of cereal at two am in the morning feeling no shred of guilt about it. He’s laying on his bed with the phone set on speaker and wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and an old raggedy shirt he had thought he had thrown away long time ago.

“You heard me. We covered favourite movies, books, actors, porn actors, tv shows and even flowers so, board game. Go”

Arthur giggles like only girls on tv shows can actually giggle and that is covering his mouth with his hand so his laughter doesn’t come across to obvious for the other to hear. “Chess” he says after thinking far too long about it.

“No way” Emrys says in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me is your favourite too?”. So far the had coincided on almost everything, from their undying fascination with John Hughes’s movies to their strange aversion towards sunflowers. And they both had laughed far too much when they learned they both had a sort of crush on Ian Mckellen.

“No, I mean no way you actually think chess is a game”

“You don’t like chess?” Arthur asks, faking a surprised gasp of shock at it.

“Nobody likes chess, they just play it because they think it’ll make them look intellectual”

“Liar” he says, trying to cover his ears -even though he knows there’s no possible way for Emrys to notice his gesture- while balancing the almost empty bowl between his tights. “You just say that because you suck at it”

Is now Emrys’ turn to make a gasp of horror at this words. He can see the man placing his hand on top of his chest, looking horrified at him. “How dare you sir to say something so foul to me”

“Please don’t” Arthur says, pleading with no real interest on actually making Emrys to stop talking. “Just admit it”

“I don’t have to because it’s a stupid game”

“So you do suck at it” he says feeling the electric wave of having won at something with no actual meaning running through his veins, feeling like a joyous child at heart.

“Do make sure to write me as a someone who loathes chess. Not just hates, not even someone who makes fun of it but loathes the thing”

“Noted” Arthur says. They had been talking about everything -and nothing at the same time- for about three hours now and at no point did Arthur stop himself to write something down. Somehow the idea of worrying more about writing down every detail Emrys was willing to confide on him seemed wrong, which was ironic given the fact he had to write about him and they both knew about it. Yet he also feels his head is heavy with all the information he had learned in such a short time and he knows it was going to take a long time before he can even start to considerer forgetting about it. “Loathes chess and has seen Pretty in Pink forty times”

“Forty four” he corrects him and before they can even stop themselves, they both burst into an spontaneous attack of laughter that only ceases once Arthur has make a mess of himself after spilling the rest of his cereal -already turned into an unappetizing mass of mess- over his belly. He stands up from the bed and without noticing the intensity of his movements, sends his phone away to the floor. He’ll have to send a letter to the company who did it, congratulating them on creating phones with such unusual ability to withstand blow after blow. “What happened?” Emrys asks after hearing the loud stomp of the object falling to the ground and Arthur’s annoyed groans at being bathed by something that is no way near to be edible any more. 

“Life happened” he says taking out his ruined pants and feeling the night breeze getting around his bared legs now. “Life and a bowl of cereal on my lap”

“I would judge you if I weren’t eating pancakes right now” Emrys says. Arthur pulls the phone from the floor and back to his bed, making sure it’s no way near the ruined and wet part of his sheets. He’ll had to change them before going to bed but the fact that is two in the morning and fixing his bed has the same amount of allure as kissing Morgana doesn’t help him to make a move.

“Hang on a second, I have to change clothes”

“Did it spill over your clothes?” Emrys asks, clearly amused by his misfortune.

Arthur walks to his closet ans start to look for a clean pair of briefs muffling a semi coherent response he hopes Emrys will understand as a yes. “What are you wearing?” he asks and Arthur only briefly smiles once he realizes Emrys did get his answer.

“I was wearing my pants but now I need to find new ones” he answers, still looking around for clean clothes and sheets to change.

“You....were?” Emrys asks and Arthur turns around to look at his phone over his bed. The other’s voice has suddenly shifted from the amused cheeky tone he had been listening to throughout the whole night into a more... Shy manner, perhaps. The realization hits him harder than a second bowl of milk on top of his head. Was Emrys truly asking him shyly about the fact that he admitted he wasn’t wearing any clothes any more? He had thought that from all people, someone who made a living of talking about sex with strangers would be anything but shy about being naked. And suddenly, the fact that he is in fact naked from the belly down and talking to Emrys hits him with the same sense of self-conciousness. He actually covers his groin before walking back to his bed and seating down on the other side where he gladly discovers the milk has not reached yet, forgetting about the idea of finding a new change of pants.

“They got ruined by the milk” he says, not daring to pick up the phone from its sentient position.

“Went to change then?”

“Not yet” he says. There’s a silence afterwards where both held quiet until -or so Arthur thinks- the other one finds an new way to divert the conversation away from Arthur’s new found nakedness. Instead, he doesn’t say anything and neither does Emrys. After almost a whole minute of quietness, Arthur thinks this might be a little bit too much, either he goes to change or someone says something. He bites his tongue and doesn’t move his legs away from the the mattress. “It’s a shame, though” he finally speaks after what feels like forever, “It was one of my favourite pyjamas” he lies on a vague attempt to make small talk -the second time of that happening in one day, something for the records surely.

“Funny” Emrys speak wearily. “Didn’t take you for the type to sleep wearing pyjamas” he says.

“What? You thought I slept naked?” Arthur says half joking half listening to his heartbeat raised all the way to his ears.

“Yeah”

“Like you?”

“Yeah”

Right, Arthur thinks. Two men naked talking to each other at almost three am in the morning. One a sex operator, the other an erotica writer. The most logical thing to do out from this situation was....

“I think I’m going to sleep now” Arthur says, almost slapping himself in the face for it.

“Getting bit late isn’t?”

“Yeah” Arthur says kicking himself in the back for it, trying to collect his phone from the other end of his bed but feeling too strange to actually touch the object without wearing anything underneath. In a way, and he knows is quite stupid for him to admit, but he feels that when he holds his phone he’s touching Emrys in a way and he doesn’t want to touch him without wearing pants at least. Or so he tells himself before saying a quick goodbye and making sure they both call each other later that day. He just saves the phone inside his drawer and closes it without giving it a second look to it.

He’s feeling a sudden twitch between his legs at the thought of having Emrys on his bed equally naked talking to him as if it was the most normal thing in the world before falling sleep. Definitely not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

**Part IV: And you pick a line.**

_And you pick a line down a cord and trace_

_Because you can_

_And when it comes back heavy_

_You'll be more than ready_

 

Arthur examines his friend’s complexion from across the table as he sees his frown appear and disappear while he process the entire story. He had been hesitant about confiding both the existence of Emrys and his own writer’s block for far too long but he had decided if he didn’t vent on the latest of the story, he might as well explode from frustration. The problem was that which type of frustration he was talking about, at this point he wasn’t sure.

“So” Leon starts, clearly unsure on where to even start with, “You are writing about this man”

“Well...” he says. “Technically yes, that was the plan but... I just haven’t written anything down so far”

“So” Leon says again, the expression of his face unchanged so far. “You call him every day to write about him but you haven’t written anything yet” he slowly says, as if he was explaining the story to himself more than to Arthur.

He moves his head from side to side, considering what his friend must be thinking about the whole scenario. When it was put like that -and frankly in what other way could Leon understand what was going on- it didn’t necessarily sounded very rational. Nor even understandable. “Why?” the ginger man asks and that was the question Arthur had been dreading about the whole time he considered explaining or not to the man. How could he start to explain the lack of energy he had felt at first when nothing poured out of his system, when not a single piece of a future story could be conceived in his head? How could he explained the gush of fresh air he had felt the first time he had heard Emrys’ voice? Or the fact that he felt more alive than ever even when he wasn’t writing anything down?

“I mean” Leon rephrases when he notices his face of utter confusion and conflict about trying to explain his truth. “Why haven’t you written anything yet?”

Oh, Arthur thinks. That. Well... Actually he doesn’t have an explanation for that neither but at least, the idea of thinking about a reason feels less ominous compared to the other aspects. “I don’t know” he genuinely admits. 

Leon simply nods and takes a sip from his coffee. He had decided to meet his friend on a coffee house not because he didn’t trust his office to be a safe place to discuss something so private to Arthur but more like, because he had felt he needed a change of setting. He might have been caught by Mithian lately staring at the emptiness of the wall in front of him far too many times to be considered something normal. “So you like this guy, right?” Leon blurts making him almost choke on his own cup of coffee. He looks back at his friend who looks anything but surprised with him almost dying because of his words; if fact the thing that sets Arthur off the most is the casual way he just mentions it, as he was just assuming it was nothing but the true. Which it wasn’t.

“No! I mean...” he says, starting to blurt around, not making any sense, “No” he finally finishes. Again, Leon’s face stays unimpressed by his little show. He’s not lying -absolutely not he adds for emphasis to himself. He is not!. “I don’t” Arthur says once he feels the hot coffee has pass completely down his throat.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Leon asks him. About ten minutes before I got here, Arthur thinks not sure what does it has to do with the discussion.

“Not so long ago” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Right” Leon says, starting to sound more amused than before -he clearly looks straight trough his lies but says nothing, either to save Arthur’s honour or to prolong this topic further. It was probably the second one. “And when was the last time you wrote something about him?”. About a month ago, Arthur thinks when he remembers the first time he had written Emrys’ name on his notepad and felt incredibly proud of his improvement; now the recollection felt both sad and pitiful.

When he doesn’t say anything, Leon smirks down before finishing his cappuccino. “Right” he says while putting the cup down. “Right, right, right”

Screw him, Arthur thinks drinking his own coffee and ignoring his friend’s amused expression. What does Leon can know about him and Emrys? The answer: nothing... Probably because Arthur was unsure himself about him and Emrys too.

° ° °

“It has to be numbers then”. Emrys’ voice almost goes unnoticed through the hectic rumble that is the city life and the rest of the people’s voices. Arthur walks around looking for a spot where he can sit and relax, buy some coffee and enjoy a simple conversation with this person. He has to call him a person and nothing more because he has no other idea on how to catalogue whatever Emrys is to him. After all, it was long time established -mostly by his lack of advance on his writing- that this was no longer a partnership where one gets inspired by the other. In a way Arthur was getting inspired... he just wasn’t putting anything down into paper while at it. “If it has nothing to do, numbers are the opposite of words”

“Says who?” he asks, entering a small café and getting into the queue, ignoring the casual glances the people around him gives him. He probably does makes a sort of spectacle of himself, walking inside a small place like this wearing his fancy suit in the middle of the day. He had decided early that morning that he was set to get an extended lunch and as long as his father remained abroad trying to close some deals with a couple of partners in America and Mithian answered his calls, there was no problem with it. Besides, talking to Emrys inside his own office always felt wrong inside of him. The side of his life that Emrys signified and his working space did not sync at all. “Everyone Arthur, literally everyone” Emrys tells him -the tone in his voice, as if he was explaining the most obvious thing to a grown man always made him smile like a small child.

The girl working in the counter smiles at him when it’s his time to order. Strangely for him, he ignores her. Normally Arthur always smiles to the pretty ladies who take his orders because it gets him benefits and also, because he’s made out of flesh and the pretty ladies had always had a nice reaction with his body. But this time Arthur smiles politely, making sure his expression gives nothing more away than a simple gesture between two strangers. He’s not looking for anyone right now, he’s fine just the way he is. “Mmmm” Emrys says after listening to his order, “Double cappuccino with whip cream. You’re going to die if you keep on drinking those things”

“I’m not going to be judged by someone who drinks waffles at three in the morning with double honey” Arthur says, ignoring the barista’s giggles and taking away his order, going to seat to a table by the window. It’s only when he seats down that the realization that he knows those sort of details about Emrys’ life hits him. He can’t even begin to think if he even knows that amount of details about Leon or even Morgana -how could he reached the point in his life when he knows more about a stranger than his sister and best friend? Arthur feels that he made a decision at some point when he signed some contract agreeing to this strange thing happening in his life.

“... Big old office right?” he catches Emrys’s lasts words once he wakes from his day dreaming and mental contemplation on his life decisions. “What?” he asks, shaking off the feeling that if he thought a couple of more seconds about it he might had discovered some pivot time about his life right now.

Emrys laughs -and the sound is still as refreshing as the first time he heard it. “Dear lord, who is she and what is she wearing?”

“What?” Arthur asks again, feeling he has somehow missed an important development inside the conversation.

“I’m assuming you stopped listening to me because some pretty lady walked in front of you and you were too busy drooling about her”. Arthur’s eyes instinctively finds the cute barista working some inches away from him. Curly hair and precious skin, on a normal day Arthur might had considered looking at her with the same want every person shares when they have found an attractive person. Not today, not for him at least.

Arthur clears his throat and drinks some of his coffee. The idea that Emrys was actually slightly upset because he had stopped listening to him because some imaginary woman that might had passed in front of him sent a small flutter to his chest. But he had not sounded jealous about it -or so Arthur thinks- and in the end, why would Emrys be jealous about him drooling over hypothetical people? “She was cute” he says, glaring over the woman serving a espresso to a dark haired man, “But she’s not my type” he adds when she steals a kiss from the other man through the counter and sending him off the shop with hearts on her eyes.

“Clearly if she has eyes and ears” Emrys says, turning his voice back into the easiness Arthur is used to listen by now. “Besides, how do you expect to make a move if you are on your phone all the time?”

Arthur smiles while he opens his sandwich. “Then maybe, I’ll just hang up now and go for her” he teases, not sure what he expects to get from the exchange. Is he trying to prove a point by showing that Emrys might be jealous of him showing attention to someone else? And what could he do if the other is in fact jealous about it? Probably nothing he admits to himself: panic and shut down himself from it. That has always been his default reaction. “Who knows? She seems intriguing enough”

Emrys doesn’t answer right away and Arthur has enough time to eat half of his sandwich before he can realize the other is being so silent. Perhaps he might had not appeared as flirtatious as he hoped for -it has never been his true forte while talking to other people- and his words had gone misinterpreted by Emrys. The thought of the other being upset at him weights more than he had count on it; in fact, the idea of fighting with Emrys almost doesn’t compute at all inside his brain. “Hello?” he teases, trying to sound relaxed and not in the verge of panicking at the same time.

Emrys suddenly starts to laugh, softly as if he has the speaker away from his mouth so it doesn’t reach Arthur’s ears too strongly. “You won’t do that, I’m too interesting. What would you do without me?” he concludes after his laughter has dried off. Arthur breathes when the other’s easy nature returns but he can’t help to sense that something might have changed in Emrys’ tone while talking. Is no the confident voice he has listened too many times before, there’s almost a shred of... Something similar to vulnerability that Arthur can’t help to find truly endearing.

“Shut up” Arthur says when he does actually wants to say how right he is. His life without him doesn’t seem an option by now.

° ° °

“I’ve been thinking”

“Oh no” Arthur says walking from his kitchen, carrying his dinner to the table while his phone gleams from the counter -speakers on- and Emrys’ voice invades his home’s ambient. Somehow the place with its cold walls and lack of pictures feels more comfy when Arthur listens to Emrys talk as if he was right inside, talking from his sofa with his legs crossed waiting for Arthur to arrive with the food. He would be lying if he said that was a picture he had not envisioned more than once. “Never a good sign”

“Shut up you prat” Emrys says, not a shred of anger in his voice. Arthur seats at the table staring at his dinner -pasta with white sauce- but quickly gets up again to get his phone closer to him. If he somehow aligns the device to make it look as if Emrys would be talking to him from the nearest chair, he doesn’t think about it. “I thought about an idea”

“Yes, people do think regarding those things, you’ll be surprised about it” Arthur says in between bites of his meal. He has also poured a glass of red wine to go along with his food; it has been a long time since he had felt so much at home inside his home as he feels now and he masterfully avoids the sadness of that thought.

Emrys sighs and the tone of getting-really-tired-of-this doesn’t escapes Arthur’s senses. “Would you just listen?”. Arthur puts down his fork and folds his hands together, placing himself in business mode as if he was about to discuss an important matter with an important client. “I’m listening” he says.

“Let’s say I’m a writer” Emrys starts to say, “I’m a writer and funnily enough I write about erotic topics, right? Then let’s say being the obsessed and control freak of a writer I am, I decide to write about sex phone operators so I call an agency and because I’m very important and the best at everything, I called for the best. Let’s say I have talked to this amazing person, truly a god among us mortals, and we both decide to exchange details about our works so I can write about a sex phone operator in my next erotic novel and be famous and be amazing”. Emrys stops at this point but Arthur doesn’t push through, the metaphors of the man’s story had been clear enough for him to know where the conversation is going. “Let’s say I am all of this things... Wouldn’t I ask eventually about the sex part of being a sex phone operator?”

Arthur rests his head over his hand, closing his eyes. He knows Emrys is being completely reasonable -in fact, his question might have been the most intelligent thing he had listened to him ever say. Then why does the answer feels so wrong inside his chest? He knows why very well but he also knows the answer is a very stupid one for him to say it out loud. Arthur had foolishly thought Emrys would never noticed he avoided topics related to sex ever since that strange first night-call they had shared almost two months ago when the realization of their shared nakedness had felt like a big pink elephant stepping inside the cosiness of their conversation. He can’t help to think that talking to Emrys about sex would be to cross a line he’s too afraid to cross, even when they are both the perfect pair to discuss openly and without shame about the topic.

“Sounds reasonable” Arthur responds.

“You never ask about it” Emrys tells him -Arthur can’t figure out the truth behind his voice’s when he says this. “I think you should”

At this point, Arthur realizes he’s not going to get a better opportunity for this than now. After all, Emrys is literally giving him an open invitation to ask away, to know all his secrets. Probably the man has been dying ever since he had first called to tell him why he is the very best at it. And Arthur would be lying if he said he had not wondered about that too at some moments, when it’s very late in the night and Emrys’ voice still lingers in his head. “Okay” Arthur whispers and suddenly him being about to ask away while sitting in his table with his dinner in front of him feels terribly wrong.

No, he thinks, if he’s going to do this he might as well do it right. “I’ll call you back” he says quickly before hanging up, hoping Emrys’ determination would still be there by the time Arthur has everything set up.

° ° °

Arthur feels like the biggest fool ever. He had actually treated this like a date -or something dangerously similar- when it was nothing but a research call. He has to remind himself it’s only that: he needs the data and Emrys is the source of information. If Arthur Pendragon is anything in this life -besides being an emotionally stunned mess with no social skills- it was professional.

He waits a couple of minutes before calling Emrys back, seating on his bed wearing only his pyjama’s bottoms, feeling really stupid. And nervous and excited and many other things he’s too anxious to catalogue with adjectives. “Thank god” Emrys tells him as soon as he picks up the call after only two rings, “I thought you had hanged up because you wanted to avoid me”. He smiles at it, finding some comfort at the notion that Emrys sounds nervous as well; of course he could never be as nervous like him, Arthur exceeds at it. It’s one of his character traits.

Arthur sighs and puts the phone down, next to his left leg by the bed; if he’d try to explain how strange it feels to hold it while talking to Emrys and also being almost naked, nobody would understand him. “I just had to sort some things before”

“Right” Emrys sighs, clearly feeling more relaxed and at ease with it, turning his voice into its usual self. Arthur knows what he’ll eventually say -Ask away Arthur- and he will ask away all the details. It’s inevitable, he thinks. I mean he had even gone through the trouble of staging his surroundings to make the experience more comfortable. Yet he still feels too unprepared to tackle the topic. Get it together Pendragon, he thinks and the fact he has to give himself a small pep talk before doing this feels as sad as it sounds.

“How do you start?” he asks because at this point any question, as stupid as it might sound like the one he just did, would be better than any more silence between them. Emrys laughs and he relaxes because that is always the main reaction his laugh has on Arthur; it relaxes him and almost vanishes the tension inside his chest - _almost_ -.

“Oh god, you have never done this before, haven’t you?” Emrys asks in disbelief. It’s Arthur small lapse of silence that tells on his truth. “Really?” Emrys says not truly surprised or outraged but genuinely amazed as if Arthur was some sort of exotic animal at a petting zoo -and comparing himself with a peculiar little lamb is really not the best way to start something like this. His ego is too frail to take a blow like that from himself. “I thought you were an erotica writer”

“It just had never occurred to me to write about a sex phone operator” he says.

“True, we are not a popular bunch ourselves”. Arthur laughs because it’s either that or to make a run for the the bathroom and lock himself inside till Emrys gets too tired of waiting for him to do something. “We are a rare breed indeed”

“Shut up” he says.

“Okay, now you know”

“Know what?”

“How do I start” Emrys says. He has recapitulated the past seconds to follow his train of thought.

“Wait” he says once he gets it, “You start with a joke?”

“It’s good to set a comfortable environment” Emrys explains as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And does it always work?” Arthur asks both amazed and confused by his technique. He doesn’t need to hear the answer from him, not really since he already knows it’s worked on him like a charm.

“People who call people like me are always in such a hurry. I just cool them off with a stupid joke so they can relax and enjoy everything”

“So you tell them a joke because you are... Dragging it?” he asks surprised to know Emrys might be more calculative than he appears.

“I do get pay by the minute you know?” he says and the both laugh, sending almost every remaining bit of tension throughout the window.

“And here I thought you did out of passion”

“Yes” Emrys laughs, “Nothing gives me more satisfaction than this” he bitterly adds.

Arthur quickly stops laughing, realizing Emrys’ words are dangerously scratching a surface too personal for him to listen at the moment. A detail on his life he might not be the most suitable to hear; after all, Arthur reminds himself, he is here for the data and nothing more. Right? He asks himself. Right he efficiently lies. “What happens when the joke doesn’t work?” he asks trying to divert the tension.

“Trust me” Emrys says, recovering some of his relaxed voice, “The joke always works”

“Then what?”

“Wouldn’t be better if I just did it and you stop narrating it?”

“You are the expert” Arthur says raising his hands in surrender, as if he was expecting to Emrys to pick on his movement through the phone.

“How was your day?” Emrys asks and the tone in his voice shifts almost too subtlety for somebody else to notice but Arthur has become a sort of an expert on Emrys’ voice over the last weeks.

“You already know that”

“Humour me, please” and the small beg sets a stream of blood through his body, something Arthur wasn’t counting on. At least he wasn’t counting for it to happen with something as simple as a request.

“Not bad” he says.

“But not great, right?”

“Not really” and the true appears easily than he had expected. Over the past days, being stuck inside his office had felt more of a burden than before.

“Do you feel lonely?” Emrys sweetly asks.

“Sometimes” he whispers, a small and unknown sting hitting him in the chest when he speaks.

“You’re not alone now”

“Yes” he admits, he’s never truly alone when he has Emrys by his side.

“I could help to turn your day for the best then”, the promise of his words transgressing the limits of his voice and reaching Arthur’s ears like a gush of fresh air.

“Yes” he says with want.

Emrys giggles, treacherous and mischievous and filled with hidden intentions. Arthur instinctively touches his belly at the sound -his hand almost moving as if it has a life of his own. That laugh has to be one of the most delicious sounds he has ever listened ever in his life, easily in the top five. When he notices how likely is for the rest of those positions to be filled by a different range of Emrys’ expressions, he laughs too and his body relaxes completely. “Where are you now?”

“In my room” Arthur responds.

“All by yourself on your big comfy bed, aren’t you?” Emrys says, his voice feeling like velvet on his ear, “I bet you wish I could be there too”

“I do” Arthur admits, the idea of having Emrys by his side at that moment hits him too heavily in the chest. He does, he would do anything right now to have him there next to him and talk his annoying gibberish as usual to his ear, with both of their heads leaning over the pillows and looking into each other’s eyes. But that would never happened and Arthur doesn’t even know what colour are Emrys’ eyes even. Nothing but a stranger on the phone, right? He reminds himself. “Are you in your bed too?” he asks and Emrys only hums. A rush of blood flows through Arthur’s legs into his groin. Emrys’ humming is definitely his top one right now.

“What are you wearing?”

Arthur glares down at his legs, his pyjamas feeling obnoxiously small right now. He can’t truly admit he’s wearing a pair of trousers with an old spill of milk near the knee, can he? Where the appeal on dirty clothes? “Nothing” he responds, quickly tossing the useless attire away from him. He’s now naked on his bed; a quick glance down his tights confirms Arthur his body is very much awake now.

“Good boy”. Emrys’ approval clearly adds more help for his body to be fully aware of the entirety of the situation. “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure” Arthur, the _Always_ of his answer being implied in the want and desire his voice shows. He can feel Emrys’ smirk of success through the line but he doesn’t care; if anything counts by now, him being proud of his compliance feels very nice around his skin.

“I want you to touch yourself wherever you feel the most sensitive”. Arthur’s hands rapidly descends from his belly to his cock; the pressure of his hand dries his throat almost immediately. He mumbles almost unintelligently but he knows Emrys will notice and he does. “Good boy, you’re so good Arthur” he says dragging the last letters from his name; Arthur’s hand slightly moves up and down at it. “Keep doing that but now...” and the pause goes on for so long Arthur can feel his chest exploding from the anticipation; he knows Emrys plays his cards well and he’s clearly the expert here so he doesn’t rushes him to speak. He waits like the good boy he is. “Now close your eyes and once you open them I want you to feel that it’s my hand the one touching you”

Arthur curls the toes around his sheet when he reopens his eyes, the weight of his hand feeling strangely -and viciously- good around his groin now. Somehow Emrys has caste a spell around his body, making his hand disappear from the picture and letting himself show up in front of him, in between his legs holding his cock with his frail and experienced hands. 

“I’m good at it, am I?” he asks knowing the answer.

At first all that Arthur can do is hum alone the rhythm of his - _Emrys’s-_ hand. “Yes” he says once he is fully hard and his body feels at edge of whatever might come next. “You are the best”

“You’ll be a good boy and let me have you, right? Let me enjoy your whole body?”

“Yes” Arthur says, his other hand travelling to feel his sensitive nipple and playing with his chest while Emrys’ hand plays with him in between his tights. “Anything”.

Everything, Arthur thinks, all of me is yours now.

“Let me have you then. Let me feel every inch of your body now. Let my hand travel all around it”. Arthur touches pretty much everywhere his hand can reach; he even lets himself suck one of his fingers when he reaches his lips. He closes his eyes, his body feeling it might react to the slightest of touches by now. “Tell me what I am feeling Arthur” Emrys pleads. Arthur now knows he is close to finish, even when he does want for this to never end.

“Everything” he says, his voice hoarse and the hand moving now more furiously than before, hungry for more as every cell of his body too. “I want you so much” he pleads as well.

“God Arthur” Emrys says, the same want Arthur had shown before now transparent in Emrys’ previously controlled tone. “You are so good, such a good boy. Let me have you, let me listen to you now”

Arthur finishes at this, this request to deliver and saying his name, he closes his eyes completely and disappears into a land where he can see Emrys standing in front of him with lust and hunger in his eyes. Hunger for him, a desire that had existed for a very, very long time.

Everything is perfectly clear by now. Arthur wants Emrys, his body craves for him too and a simple talk through the phone would not be enough for him, not any more. When he wakes up from his mild-dreamlike state, Emrys is saying his name too through the phone. It takes a moment before they can both recovered their normal breaths and once the minute is over and Arthur has cleaned himself, he doubts on what to do next. The question - _where do we go from this now?-_ obnoxiously lingering around his head like a fly he can’t drive away with his hand.

“Good night Arthur” Emrys whispers before ending the call. “Night” Arthur replies falling asleep right there in his bed, holding the phone in his hand as if the object was safe line he could never let go.

**Part V: A crack in the road.**

_Through a crack in the road it sprung_

_The seedling warm and young_

_Stretching out for the sun_

 

From all the people Arthur might expect a call from, his editor is sadly at the very bottom of the list. “Arthur” Annis’ voice has always had that peculiar mixture of both disappointment and motherly love he can’t never quite understand -as if him was her child which she expected greater things from, an assumption is not too far away from the truth since he had failed to turned anything new in almost eight months now.

“Good Morning Annis” he says, pouring a cup of coffee before he can leave for the office. He’s glad she had chosen to make this call while he’s still inside the comfort and safety of his own place; how could he explain around his voice that he might be too busy to do something at the moment because he was talking to his editor?

“You know your charm has no effect on me, right?” she asks, not impressed by his charming salute.

“Sadly yes” he says sitting down on his sofa, expecting the scolding of his life. After all, he had failed at his contract -and probably had lost his editor’s trust by now by disappearing from their radars without a proper explanation. But what could his star writer say about his writer’s block? That would be admitting defeat and he had too much pride around his veins thanks to his namesake to actually do that. “Tell me Arthur, do you still have fingers attached to those pretty hands of yours? I mean, that could be the only explanation as to why you never even bothered to send an email to us”

“I’ve been too busy” he lies, knowing she will see right through him for it, “I haven’t got time to write something”

“Yes” Annis says clearly fed up by his excuses and lies, “And I rule my own kingdom”

“I thought you already did that”

“Spare me your clever words and spill it. What is it?” Annis tells him without a single shred of amusement in her voice. “You don’t want to do this any more, want to write something else, tackle a different genre perhaps?”. When he doesn’t say anything, Annis sighs with both frustration and concern in equal measure. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have send you to a retreat to find your writer’s voice, you know?”

“And you know I can’t quit my day job too... Besides, I sorted it out” _Sort of_ he feels tempted to add but he knows it would do him no good if she might even start to suspect about the tangled web of events his life has become since he had made that first call almost three months ago now.

“You have a story then?” she asks. If something he can rescue out of his editor’s temper is not only her resilience and strength but also her pure love for stories and the art of fiction; she could have never become an editor of fierce character and passionate eye for details and good characters if she didn’t love literature in the first place.

“Kind of” he says. He quickly glances at his watch and realizes he will be late for work if he keeps this social call for too long. “I have to go now” he adds, getting up and walking to his door after picking up his briefcase with some very important and dull documents inside of it.

“Arthur...” Annis says, knowing he is purposelessly diverting from the real problem here. “We need to talk”

“I know, I know” he mumbles before hanging up. “I’ll call you” he says before ending the call -he had clearly distinguished Annis’s frustrated sigh before turning the conversation to silence. Besides, he had not lied -not entirely after all-, he does has something it’s just that not even him knows what the hell it is.

° ° °

Ever since that night, Arthur and Emrys had stopped their every-day-calling-you-at-every-hour routine. Sort of. They still talked every day but in between parades of strange conversations and mumbled words they had subconsciously agreed it was best if they returned to a certain hour to maintain a conversation like they had intended at first. The fact that the schedule had not lasted even more than one day was left unsaid by them for obvious reasons. Now eight in the night had returned to being Emrys’ hour, which as Arthur thought about it, it sounded both ridiculous and lovely. To have an specific time in his life for the other man made him feel flustered in his chest, something he would never admit out loud.

But sometimes, even when their new arrangement didn’t feel like the old days yet they both stick to it like good boys -the mention of the term did weird things to Arthur’s insides- he found himself wishing he could just call Emrys and talk about things that didn’t matter just for the sake of listening to his melodious voice making fun of his petty problems. That feeling could only increased when Arthur had a real trouble.

“Arthur?” Emrys asks dumbfounded, probably checking his watch realizing it’s only mid-day. “What is it?”

There’s really no other way to say this, he can’t just mascaraed the call as a social one -that has never been their deal after all- and even if he tried, he couldn’t for the life of him act as if he was calling to flirt or something equally embarrassing. Besides it will be obvious that Emrys would see right through him. “I got a call today” he says, making sure his office’s door is closed and Mithian is not going to pass him any calls at the moment, “From my editor” he adds, giving some seconds for Emrys to grew accustom at the realization that he was still a writer even when they hardly talk about it.

“Bad news?”

“They’ll probably fire me in a couple of days”. Arthur says not able to truly hide the bad taste in his mouth this left; this wasn’t just a matter of his wounded pride -Pendragons don’t get fire, probably because they always hire each other- but also he couldn’t help think about the fact that once his contract will be terminated, they won’t be any other proof to support his claim that he is -or was- indeed a writer.

“Or they might not” Emrys tries to comfort him, sensing the bitterness and sadness in his voice. It’s a sweet attempt to make him feel somehow better -the small chance that it was just a misunderstanding and soon, they will be laughing about it inside Annis’ office but he can’t help feeling that once they’ll let him go, he would have lost a part of himself. The part that said Arthur Pendragon-Writer. After that he would only be Arthur Pendragon-Finance consultant. Just to think about it made him sink even deeper in his leathered chair.

“Please” he says, “I haven’t turned anything new in almost a year. They’ll be fools to keep me around if they can’t profit from it”

“Have you thought that maybe, not everything has to do with what’s good for business? Maybe they are genuinely concerned about why haven’t you written anything for such a long time”

Arthur sighs knowing that Emrys was being perfectly reasonable but he can’t find the necessary strength to admit it. He had called to gloat in his misery, he didn’t need him to boost his mood like a small child looking for a warm hug. Or so he tries to make himself believe with a stubborn quality his father would be proud of. “You don’t understand” he says, rubbing his closed eyes sensing a headache -he’ll have to call Mithian to get him some aspirins before going to his weekly meeting with his father upstairs. He can only handle one authoritative figure being disappointed at him by his lack of professionalism in one day.

“Okay, so you called. Explain it to me” Emrys challenges him. If only it was as simple as it sounds, Arthur thinks knowing it’s clearly quite simple to say: he feels like a failure and he doesn’t want to admit it to him. Why is that so hard for him to comprehend? He had called for support, not a challenge on his vision of the trouble. Is he asking for too much? And besides, how could he begin to explain his situation? You see Emrys, I’m actually a best seller writer -your personal idol nonetheless- with a very particular reputation to hold on to. Also, if they terminate my contract I will never stop thinking I’m nothing but a fraud. There was no possible way where he could explain those things without sounding both insane and pathetic.

“Forget about it” he says, taking the phone away and calling Mithian to get him an aspirin as soon as possible. He listens to Emrys’ frustrated groan from the other line and it doesn’t sound like the adorable noises Arthur is used to listen to him make. He knows what does the groan actually means: you were the one who call me Arthur, you wanted my advice, I’m here but I can’t help unless you throw me a vine. Arthur can hear Emrys’ tacit words behind the noise but he can’t find the courage to tell him how thankful he actually is for it and how desperate he is to have him by his side now. “I shouldn’t have call you now. Sorry” he says before ending the call.

Why does it always come to the point that his default reaction when things get too much is to walk away? He bitterly considers when Mithian arrives with the pill and a glass of fresh water. He ignores her glare -she looks at him as if he had stepped over a kitten’s tail with no remorse- and drowns the aspirin, thinking the bad taste in his mouth it’s from the capsule and nothing else.

° ° °

Is not surprising after all that when he calls later in the night, Emrys doesn’t pick up. He tries a couple more times -trying his best to not look too desperate- but in the end, decides that Emrys doesn’t want to talk to him today. He can’t blame him, in a way Arthur doesn’t want to talk to himself neither.

He was almost set to go to bed at eight twenty when a sudden knock on his door startles him. A number of scenarios start to swirl around his head -all the way from Annis to Emrys himself appearing in his threshold at this time of night- but whatever fantasies he might feed, they’re all gone once he opens the door and Morgana steps inside without waiting to receive an invitation. Arthur realizes he might be in a very bad shape when he’s actually glad to have his sister with him right now to vent all of his problems.

“Uther called me this afternoon” she says, sitting on his sofa, taking away her killer heels and crossing her legs under a pair of cushions, looking like the sweet girl she had been years ago before she had discovered how more resourceful it was in life to be cold and vicious. Besides, the mellow and lovely personality never truly suit her in the end. “He’ll never say the actual words but I think he’s worried about you. Said you were all over the place at your meeting today”. Arthur goes and sits by her side, closing his eyes remembering how he had been thinking about many things except the details that actually mattered while being in front of his father. “Honestly Arthur, if you don’t step it up, he might send you on a leave again” she laughs but her smile quickly fades when she looks at him. Jesus, that bad? He thinks when she frowns at his sight.

“What is it?” she asks him. Actually, he has changed his mind, he’ll rather right now scream into a pillow than actually admitting to Morgana all of his problems.

“Annis called” he tells her, his sister making a face of “That-probably-wasn’t-a-very-pleasant-talk”. She does know him more than they could both admit out loud. “She said we needed to talk. She’s probably going to fire me and I’ll be without an editor, starting from scratch once again”. _And then I’ll be nothing,_ he feels tempted to add but there’s no need, Morgana gets the point by now.

“Sounds bad but...” she says, glancing over him and touching his shoulder with an almost unnoticeable and warm touch -the only form of physical comfort the Pendragons allowed themselves to show. “That’s not all isn’t?”

The memory of Emrys trying to help him but he shutting him out of the situation makes his stomach feel sick to the core. And the fact that he didn’t answer him moments before certainly doesn’t help either. “Is it because of your special friend?” she asks, accenting the _special w_ ith a mixture of amusement and concern. They don’t discuss this -Emrys, his writings- so openly, they never had as a deal they both signed the moment they had decided to share this portion of Arthur’s secret life. In fact, as far as he was concerned he had never truly mentioned Emrys’ existence to Morgana before. He truly must be tired if he can find the necessary strength to feel angry at Leon for talking about it.

“I might had got mad at him for trying to help me” he says. Morgana looks at him with pity and understanding in her emerald eyes; she doesn’t say anything for a while and casually places her hand on his own, being the maximum extend of their brother-sister’s displays of affection.

“Oh Arthur” she whispers to him sweetly, “Isn’t that the only thing we know how to do brilliantly?” she asks him with sadness in her voice. A sudden flash of her ignoring Leon for weeks after he had got the courage to tell her he loved her and then acting as if nothing had truly happened doesn’t exactly screams comfort to him. But it’s not necessarily a bad feeling to know he’s not the only thing broken inside his home right now. To remember how close Morgana had been to loose Leon’s frail friendship after that incident, it hits him like a bucket filled with icy water. Is he going to loose Emrys’ trust as well, until they are destined to never speak with the same easiness than before ever again?

He knows that even when his sister and best friend where not on equal terms any more, they still talked from time to time and eventually ran into each other at the family dinners the Pendragon household had every year. He doesn’t have that with Emrys; there’s no safety that he might be at the table for next Christmas. He doesn’t even have the certainty now that he might ever answer back his calls.

“Make the call Arthur” she tells him after they had remained there in silence for almost twenty minutes. She doesn’t say if he has to call Annis or his special friend but in the end, it doesn’t matter. “Make the call Arthur” she repeats right before leaving his flat carrying her shoes in her hand with equal grace and elegance as any other queen, “And stop pretending this is about your writing”

He falls asleep right there in his sofa, the sound of the closing door being the last thing he remembers before shutting down his brain for the day.

° ° °

It takes almost every remaining bit of Arthur’s will power before doing this but after a long walk around the park, remembering the old days when a simple stroll could set him writing a story for an entire day, he calls Emrys. The thing is he doesn’t call at his personal line but he picks the old and wrinkled add he had kept inside a file months ago and follows the normal protocol, setting up a date with the very best of Albion. The entire tone is wrong about him doing that but he can’t know if Emrys would answer him if he had call as his normal self. Once again, anonymity was his best weapon.

“Hi there” Emrys tells him, cheeky and glorious as always. The sting Arthur feels at the idea that Emrys talked like that to other people besides him proves to be a little bit too much than he can expect so he doesn’t say anything right away. “Hello?” Emrys asks again amused, probably thinking Arthur is just another shy costumer.

“Hi” he finally says.

“Arthur”

“I’m sorry but...” Arthur has to stop first of all to take some more air, feeling his chest constricting itself inside of him, “You weren’t taking my calls”

“You hanged up on me”

“It was a social call, nothing too important” he lies. This is definitely not the way he had envisioned this conversation would go like; he still can’t completely shake off the fact his defences act up whenever emotional conversations are near.

“You called because you wanted my advice, I tried to help and you hanged up” Emrys says now serious, “I assumed you didn’t care for my opinion then”

“Of course I care about your opinion” - _It means more than anything to me right now_ \- “I was just tired that day” - _I panicked because you were telling me something that I didn’t want to considerer and I don’t know how to handle those things_ -. “But I do care about your opinion” - _I care about you_ -.

This wasn’t healthy, the things he was letting be left unsaid were the things he was more desperate for Emrys to know. Arthur could feel himself hiding the truth with every word that left his mouth, desperation pulsing around his veins because of that.

Emrys doesn’t speak for a couple of seconds and Arthur knows that what he is holding from him it’s more than loud and clear now. “I don’t think I can help you with this Arthur” Emrys tells him sighing with frustration -it’s the tender tone in his voice that makes Arthur feel like a little boy. “I can’t help you if you don’t want to listen the truth”

Arthur tries to dry out a scream of frustration, rubbing his hair franticly and pacing around his bedroom. The shy morning light -an almost pink and blue mixture of pale colours- that shines through his window and into the pale emptiness of his room does nothing to calm his spirits. Why does everything has to be so difficult? “There are no truth left Emrys!” he screams, “I have problems like everybody else but there is no truth for me to get!”

Emrys laughs, dryly and without a single shred of actual amusement. “Don’t you get it Arthur? Is not just about you having issues” Emrys tells him. “Is not about you having some writer´s block and weeping about it, we all have those times when we don´t know what to do but it´s the fact we are willing to spread a hand and find help that fixes it. Not being brave or shutting ourselves inside our shells for nobody to help us.

You want to know why you’ll never fix your issues Arthur? Is because you can’t admit that you might can’t fix them on your own...”

Emrys’ voice seems to be almost close to tears but Arthur can’t concentrate on the fact he has brought that frustration and sadness out of him. Not now when he’s so angry, when his head is red and hot from rage... Frustration at himself. What does that mean then? He asks himself, what can he do if in the end he can’t be enough to help himself through this? What does he has left?

“And the worst part Arthur is that you are not alone, you’re just too messed up to notice it. I don’t think you are going to write your story being like this”

“And what the hell could you know about writing a story?” he asks with disgust, pretending is not Emrys who holds the other line but himself, or at least a version of the real Arthur Pendragon, an Arthur that is a coward and filled with bitter thoughts -something not too far away from the real deal. “You’re nothing but a whore who works with a phone”

“You know what Arthur? If you try to make me upset or hate you, is not going to work... I’ll just feel sad for you”

That’s the last thing Arthur hears before Emrys hangs up. He doesn’t need to have any sort of magical powers to know that if he tries calling back -it doesn’t matter which number he might choose- his call will not go through anywhere. Arthur throws away his phone through the room, sending it into a deep crash within the wall, finally shattering it into five different pieces and sets off to go back to his bed, thinking Saturdays were invented for people who doesn’t know what to do with their broken lives.

**Part VI: I seem to know again.**

_And as my body changes a pace_

_I_ _seem to know again_

_That I am not gonna die this way_

 

If he had any actual motional function left in his body, he might get up and walk as far away from his room right now but he doesn’t and there will be no place left in this world where he might escape Mithian’s wrath. “Off your feet now” she tells him pulling down the covers and opening the curtains letting the bright sun of midday pierce him like a death ray of pain. “And I’m not saying it twice”

He gets up from bed -something he hasn’t done in almost five days by now- still wearing the same clothes he had wore the last Saturday, or has it been a Friday or Wednesday? The details doesn’t matter in the end, he’s just happy Mithian didn’t bring a hose with her to wake him up. Yet as he walks around his room like an empty shell of his normal self, he’s still not sure if she’s not waiting for him on his living room expecting to catch him unprepared before drowning him with a powerful stream of cold water. Arthur peaks his head through the corner of the door before stepping entirely outside his bedroom; there was no sign left of Mithian and Arthur wonders if perhaps he had imagined her as a guilty remembrance of his forgotten responsibilities.

As soon as he gets inside the kitchen completely starving for something besides bitter cups of coffee, she shows up behind him carrying bag after bag of both food and clean clothes. She carries it with an elegant expertise he didn’t know she possessed. Mithian takes all the bags to the living room and stops to glare at him with cold and hot daggers in both of her eyes. “Good, now go an take a shower immediately”. There’s not a shred of doubt regarding her intentions and Arthur complies silently, mostly because at the moment he’s basically operating in auto-pilot.

After what it sadly is his first shower in almost a week, Arthur doesn’t feel as refreshed as he probably had expected. His hair and skin might smell like wild flowers soap but his body doesn’t feel as rejuvenated as before. His legs feel heavy under him and he has to make a great effort to move his body from his bathroom unto his sofa. Arthur seats heavily on top of it, his feet kicking lazily the bags his assistant has left around him, not worrying about their content. A steaming cup of tea is left standing in front of him, waiting to be lift over the small table and he picks it up because that’s what he has being doing for the last days: drinking and not thinking, a charming and winning combination. The taste of actual sugar in his mouth is the first thing that wakes him slightly from his soporific state. Mithian seats besides him and sighs heavily, obviously quite exhausted from doing all of this errands. He wants to tell her he didn’t ask her to do anything for him but he knows that would only get him a slap in the face besides, he doesn’t believe it himself. “Thank you” he tells her. Mithian slaps him in the face nonetheless.

“Shut up you useless toad” she says. Arthur looks at her direction, eyes probably at the edge of jumping away from their sockets -not only he had never being spoken like that before by her but he had never considered the possibility of her talking like that to anybody. “This is the last time I drag your ass out of bed. You’re a grown man, act like it!”

“You don’t understand” he stubbornly tells her, drinking his tea and not meeting her gaze.

“Oh please, you really think I don’t know about your case of writer´s block?”

Arthur almost spits completely his tea at it, looking at Mithian with both confusion and panic in his eyes. He mumbles something similar to _What?_ Or _How did you know?_ But in the end it only comes out as incoherent blabbering.

“Seriously Arthur, I’ve worked for you for three years now. You honestly think I would not notice if my boss was a writer... And a struggling one too?”

Arthur looses all brain function and the ability to speak leaves his body as soon as he listens to this. Perhaps he had not been as smooth while keeping his secret as he had thought before. “Besides Morgana called me, told me all about it and begged me to come and get you out of your bed”. At this point all that Arthur can truly do without passing out from the shock is stare at the small teacup in his lap -he tries to close his eyes first pretending this is just a terrible, truly horrible dream. “I’m not here for you to tell you all your life story Arthur, I just need to make sure you’re still a functioning human being”

“I hardly think so” he finally says once he feels his tongue can work again. Mithian doesn’t look impressed by his accomplishment and walking to the kitchen, she unpacks something from her bag. Arthur tries to peak what it is but all his still sleepy eyes can see is a file like those where they keep their client’s information. “What is it?” he asks, still not trusting his legs to make the motion from the sofa to the kitchen counter considering that perhaps Mithian had only came here to bring the work back to him. “This” she says picking up the file and putting it down on the table, “It’s from Morgana. She said she had to pull some strings for it but that you will appreciate it”

His curiosity is starting to itch around his skin so he ventures himself forward to the place where the file lies waiting for his attention. A single scribbled word on the cover at the bottom left corner almost sends him to the ground from the shock. _Emrys, M._ It reads. How could she have done this? He had thought it might be easy to forget her for spilling his secret to Mithian but this... This was some other level of trust being shattered to the ground because of her natural ability to meddle into other people’s business. “I got you food and new clothes there” Mithian says, ignoring Arthur’s blank expression of shock and pointing down to the bags left waiting for his attention on the living room. “Also your father said you were only allow to return back to work once you feel better. He worries too, you know?”

Arthur glances back at her as she’s about to leave. “Morgana said there was no photo inside, that that was something you had to learn by yourself”. Mithian waits with the door knob in her hand, looking at him sad and sweetly at the same time, “Please eat something Arthur. You have people worrying about you every day, don’t forget that”

° ° °

Arthur had to go for a small walk after that -a small, simple walk that somehow turned into a city tour throughout the entire day. He wasn’t running away from his problems, he was walking after all, but he didn’t feel prepared to come back into his own home and face the inevitably force that it was a simple and common file lying on top of his table. So Arthur did what he did best -divert himself from the actual problem- and ended up alone, slightly lost and famished on the far edge of the city. And yet he feels this situation was far better than his current one.

“You’re not from here are you?” a small and sweet voice asked him. When he looks up from his feet -he had been staring at them for almost ten minutes without moving sitting on a bench in an unknown park- his eyes meet the soft and tender one of a petite woman. A small part of him feels tempted to shrug the girl off away from him with an unpleasant remark but her tenderness seems so genuine and at this point, he’ll grab to whatever short portion of kindness the universe is willing to provide to him.

Arthur smiles and the girls smiles back, choosing to seat besides him with a cup of coffee in her hand and moving her feet idly when they don’t seem to reach the ground. Is actually quite endearing -she seems sweet to the bone- and Arthur can’t help but smile more at it. She’s not that old he notices when he looks at her profile quickly stealing a glance -her tender features cannot surpass does of a young woman, Arthur gives her nineteen at most. “You looked troubled stranger”

“Aren’t we all?” he asks, wishing to mentally slap himself in the face for it. The least he needs right now is to give this girl a taste of his own bitterness.

“Sometimes, sometimes we think we are but it’s nothing in the end” she tells him, slurping through her straw. Cold caramel cappuccino, Arthur notices -Emrys’ favourite in fact- and her lips end up with a small hint of the sweet around them. “What’s troubling you stranger?”

He smiles at her and she smiles back, the quiet ambient noise around them making this a shareable moment for their future days -Let me tell you the story of a girl I met once in a park, Arthur can see himself telling this to a somebody in the future but that somebody’s face is blurry and almost non-existent. Probably because there’s not a photo in the file. He shrugs off this thought, trying to focus on the present moment and that it’s a girl willing to listen to him talk about his issues. She’s a stranger on the road and Arthur feels the need to grab unto her and not let her go until everything inside his chest can be free.

“I’m a writer” he tells her, a wide smile forming all over her face and he dreads for a couple of seconds if she might ask him what has he written before. Could somebody this sweet share his inclinations for literary tastes? If she does, he might not be as surprised as if he might expect -the business he’s part with is a strange and non judgemental zone for everybody to let their inner and deep desires roam free through pages and stories after all.

“And you can’t write?” she asks him. Arthur frowns at it because it comes to him like one magnificent bolt of self-realization that that’s not the problem: he can write, he could do it right now and solve all of his problems with Annis after one session of typing through his computer and scribbling scattered notes around papers. It’s a tingling sensation of excitement to know he finally has a story but it’s also a sad thought to realize he has had it for far too long inside of him, he had just been too afraid to set it free.

“Not really” he answers, “No”. She looks at him expectantly, waiting for a proper explanation but he doesn’t have one because explaining this would be facing too many things all at once and his brain can’t handle the pressure. Not right now, not when he has just come to the sense he can still be a writer.

“My mum used to be a writer” she tells him, apparently eager to not let the conversation die out because of his own reluctance to speak up. “She wrote children’s stories and made me a character in one. I was a fierce beast that everyone in the jungle feared who hunted its preys in the night but in fact, I was afraid of the dark and needed help to survive and when the rest of the animals found out, they mocked me for it” she tells him, making as she speaks with one of her hands the clear sign of her fingers turning into deathly -and lovely- claws. “My mum said it didn’t sell very well and she stopped writing after that but I love that story. I know every line by heart now”

He looks up at her, still smiling with her coffee around her pink lips. “How does it end?” Arthur asks.

“The beast finds another one just like it who teaches it to eat and be proud of her fears. I don’t think people thought it was a very encouraging finale for a book though” she says, hiding a small giggle behind her cup. “It might teach kids to go and live in the jungle and hunt other animals”

“I like it” Arthur says sincerely. He doesn’t know what story the girl is talking about, he hardly thinks he might even recognised her mother as an author but he likes it because it simple and acceptable for an ending: it’s not happy but it’s not sad and it sends a piece of small wisdom unto the world, even when it didn’t not sell very well. “Did the beast forgave them? The animals who made fun of her?”

The girls smiles again and Arthur can see a small brush of past scars around her face -indicators that the animals had been more tangible than simple words and drawing inside a common book-. “I think so. They didn’t know her after all so they didn’t know who the beast was and what she feared all the time”

Arthur looks down, crossing his finger one another, suddenly the cold air hitting him around his face and neck and the urge to return to his comforting home starts to form inside him. He doesn’t want to leave now -not at this second- but he also knows he can’t stay there forever because eventually his home awaits for him. The girl seems to get this through his features and stretches her legs through the bench before getting up; Arthur looks at her and they share a short smile before she can turn around and start walking to a direction he can’t -and won’t- remember. Before Arthur can start to make the initial motions of going back to his flat, the girl turns around and waves a goodbye at him. He waves back knowing he won’t see her again but it doesn’t bother him; perhaps she was there to be inside his life for a short and brief moment of clarity. Perhaps she was there to let shine a small peak of light over the grey and bleak heads that walked every day around this park.

As Arthur walks back home he starts to think in what a way he can begin to lose the fear to his own darkness. His fingers itch with the certainty of words forming around the tips of them.

° ° °

Leon brings him food whenever Mithian is too busy at the office to help him. Since he has no immediate plans to return to his work at the company, he had called Morgana and told her his assistant needed work and probably a new title. So Mithian technically doesn’t work for him any more, still that didn’t stop her from visiting him every now and then with news from the office and a fresh supply of frozen meals. He hasn’t got up from his desk in almost three weeks and the occasional trips to the bathroom are the only moments he can let his legs and muscles stretch.

Arthur types while Leon opens the windows; he types when Leon takes away the trash. He types when he listens to his friend cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen. Arthur keeps on typing when his friend is long gone from his home. He makes sure to thank him for his help -or at least, his incoherent mumbles try to fulfil that function- and also, he thanks to both Mithian and Morgana when they show up and do the same... Even when Morgana doesn’t really clean up the dishes but at least, she gives him moral support in her own way. And that mainly consists on not mentioning the file that has accumulated his own personal layer of dust on top of his table.

He doesn’t mention the fact that neither of his three housekeepers move the object from its original position and he thinks it’s probably best if he doesn’t think too much about it anyway. It might taint his writing and at this stage he can’t let anything ruin what he has... Because it’s brief and frail and it might break at any second.

Annis calls him when it’s Morgana’s turn to watch over him and he doesn’t answer. She seats near him, on top of her bed while he tries to find a proper synonym for “tangible” and he can feel her glare piercing the side of his body. He saves the few lines he has worked on for the past two hours and turns to see her. “Out with it” he demands with his sister looking anything but impressed at his authoritarian voice -mimicking Uther is not his strong suit, has never been actually.

“What are you waiting? To surprise your editor when she’s ready to fire you with a new story and be liked and act like this never happened? You are a business man Arthur, even when you try not to and you can’t be this reckless”

Arthur seats back on his chair -the muscles of his back already strained from spending the entire morning in front of his computer typing like a madman- and crosses his arms, not wanting to face the rationality behind Morgana’s words. He’s no fool and he understands he can’t just bark inside Annis’ offices and expect to be welcome with open arms. “And what can I tell her?”

“The truth perhaps?” Morgana asks with a raised eyebrow over her fierce face. “I met her once remember? She’s not as cold as she likes to pretend she is and she obviously cares about her writers deeply. She cares for King as much as you do”

He knows she’s right but he prefers the idea of acting like a child and return to his typing; he’s also scared at the thought that his idea might fly away from inside his head and he might never find it ever again. In the end, Arthur is just a bundle of fears, nerves, and words. So many words. “Have you called?” she suddenly asks him, the notion this is no longer about his editor abundantly clear for the two of them. His eyes dart to his bedroom’s door and a peak of his table before returning his focus to Morgana. Arthur doesn’t think about it -he tries not to at least- but the notion the file over-watches him while he writes makes him feel reassured he’s doing something good right now. Yet in all this time he can’t seem to find the necessary strength to make the call. Like he said before, he’s made out of fears and nerves and also, a worrying amount of caffeine running through his veins.

Morgana sighs, visibly tired from doing this dance of trying to bring outside the guilt inside of him and make him do the right thing for once. She gets up and picks up her bag. Before he can hear the door closing and return his hands back to their position in front of the keyboard, he hears her say “Do try to get some fresh air. Your hair looks awful with such a pale skin”.

He makes no mental not of the detail and types away once the word “corporeal” comes into his mind. If the phones rings again later that day, he acts as if it never happened.

° ° °

It takes him almost four months of pure verbal vomiting but he finishes a first draft in almost record time. As he prints out the pages, not bothering to revising anything yet, he takes a glass of red wine and stands in front of the printer, rejoicing on the mechanical sound the machine makes with every new page appearing through its platter. The story is not finished, it’s far from perfect but it’s his story and he feels proud of it.

When he walks back to the kitchen for a refill his eyes dart back to the table he hasn’t occupy in ages. The file is still there -the inanimate object watching him walk from one point to another of his own house as if it’s expecting to be opened at any second- and Arthur doesn’t know how to explain the sudden life his hands take when they leave the glass down and pick it up. It’s not terribly large, he can calculate about thirty pages inside and he feels a strange sensation of anger at whoever was in charge of composing the report. How could the summarize Emrys’ entire life -the most interesting person Arthur has ever met- in just thirty pages tops? How can that be possible when he can write an entire dissertation on the way Emrys says _Hello_ when he answers the phone?

It could be so easy, so simple and clean, just to open it and read and he will know the man behind the enigma. One read and he would know more than any of his clients know about him; he could even have more knowledge about the man’s life than his closest friends. The file means power and an answer but Arthur is not sure if he’s looking for any of these things. He ponders about it for a couple of more minutes but when he listens to the printer announcing there’s no more text left to dispatch, he puts the file down and walks away from the living room. When the still hot stack of papers looks back at him from their position, Arthur picks up the phone and calls, unsure if his call might even be connected to begin with.

° ° °

Uther Pendragon has always being a man of few words so when he calls back at his son to arrange a lunch for the next day, he only bothers to wish him a good day, tells him the place and time and says goodbye in over two minutes. When Arthur arrives at the restaurant on time, his father is waiting for him on their usual table. The man wasn’t only stoic but also punctual as hell. He sits in front of him wearing a grey suit -both trousers, vest and jacket made from the same expensive fabric- and his eyes quickly find the brown and prominent envelope waiting for somebody’s attention next to his father’s glass of water. What would he do if a sudden motion from his father might send a river of cold liquid on top of his own printed words? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t feel very eager to find out.

“Arthur”

“Father”

The exchange is cold but neither of them reflect too much on what does that mean about themselves; it’s just their way of being and they have come to terms with the fact they will never be a family of hugs and kisses both publicly and privately. Uther orders for the two of them and drinks his glass of water in silence as Arthur alternates his sight from his father’s unmovable features to the pages at his right. The waiter of long brown hair and cheeky grin comes back with their food and they both start eating without saying another word. It’s only when desserts arrives that Uther -cleaning his chin with his napkin- dares to speak to his son. “I read it” he says and Arthur stops breathing not knowing what to expect as the ending of the sentence. “It´s...” Uther begins to say, clearly struggling to find the right words to diminish his life’s work. “It´s refreshing” he says. Thankfully Arthur wasn’t eating anything at that moment, otherwise the spectacle of him throwing away a chewed piece of chocolate cake might have been too much.

“What?” he asks, cold sweat forming on his back as his body doesn’t know how to react to this news. How could he? Open and favourable criticism by Uther is not something he’s physiologically prepare to handle.

“I devoured it” Uther continues, “I must admit at first I thought it was a joke but somehow I ended up through chapter nine without even noticing it” his father says. For all that’s worth, Arthur could be standing in front of an smiley and grey-looking alien greeting him with open arms to aboard its spaceship and his face would still be the same one. Disbelief, shock and... Gratefulness. Not something one feels every day. “It’s brilliant, Arthur. Simply brilliant even when it clearly needs some revising from your side”

“What?” he asks again.

“I thought you sent it because you wanted my opinion. Well, this is my opinion, I loved it” Uther says as if he was explaining him the most obvious thing in the universe but for Arthur’s head it sounds like the most incredible thing in the world. He _loved_ it, his father loved it.

“What?” he asks again, this time with a wide and broad smile formed on his face. He feels like a child unwrapping the first present of the family on a Christmas’s morning. “I thought you’ll hate it”

“Why would I have so surely hated it?”

“Because” Arthur begins, this being his turn now to state the obvious, “It’s erotica and you’ll probably think it’s not real literature”

“It has a good story, good characters and yes, it has sex in between but is masterfully written so no... I don’t hate it”

Arthur drinks to the bottom of his own glass of water as he listens to his father praise his work, pinching himself in between sentences, trying to remember he was in fact awake and alive at that moment. “You should try to get this publish. It will be a brilliant début for a young writer” his father finishes.

It’s Arthur turn to laugh like a madman now. He laughs and laughs until his stomach has no more resistance for it and he can finally stop and tell his father everything. All of it, from the very beginning -including the very humiliating anecdotes on how both Morgana and Leon discovered his secret- and his heart only skips a couple of beats when he reaches Emrys’ portion of the tale. Uther listens to it quietly, nodding at all the appropriated times and patiently lets his son finish his story before looking straight into the core of his soul and says “I didn’t raise a fool Arthur. Go and call that man”.

Arthur has never received a scolding from his father with a wider grin on his face.

**Part VII: Like I should.**

_And I'll hold my misses_

_In a bed of kisses_

_Like I should_

_Cause I am not_

_Gonna die this way_

 

Annis is going through his schedule for the next month. The news that King was releasing a new novel had hit the literary circles fast and wide and the hype for the new story -a few critics daring to call it the very best he had ever written before, _A refreshing new tone since Anäis Lin_ Arthur had ventured himself to remember from a newspaper- had made him a very busy man once again. But his concerns weren’t business meetings or numbers and data and they will never be his priority ever again.

Certainly when he had arrived at his editor’s office carrying the revised draft under his arm, he had endured his fare share of screaming, disapproving glances and an alarming lack of encouragement whether they might publish or not his new book. After two days time, Annis had called him back urging him to go to her office and discuss the arrangements for his payment and publication options. Since that meeting, Arthur’s life had returned to the motions he had known so well before with calls and visits from Annis discussing the key elements and themes within the novel. He felt like a writer once again but this time, he was sure the feeling was going nowhere.

He had compromised, like all writers eventually did, on some points and had fought with teeth and claws for another but the one subject he had been fiercely adamant to alter had been the dedicatory at the start of the book. Now that he could hold the first edition of it over his lap and his fingers sweetly caressed the first page, the tender _For Emrys because he was the very best_ feels like a secret he’s revealing to the world.

Arthur had already read one article discussing the nature of the mysterious Emrys who had inspired King to write his masterpiece. If they could have known all of the details of the man’s life lay idly on top of his table, his flat would have been attacked by a horde of hungry journalists looking for answers. So to avoid any way they could have them, Arthur had tossed to the trash the file and its thirty pages without reading a single line of it. When he contemplated the object staring back at him from the bottom of the dark bag, he had felt he could finally begin to breathe and enjoy the excitement of releasing a new book.

Soon the book would reach every bookshop in the country and everyone would read the story of a man called Emerson who loved John Hughes and talked with a velveteen voice and was a god in bed looking for an answer to a puzzle: What are people afraid of? What are people looking? What can you talk about when you are there alone and your walls are already down?

The first edition of _In a Moment’s Grace_ would hit the stands soon and Arthur felt like a child once again. He simple couldn’t wait any longer.

° ° °

The reviews so far had been what everyone had expected. They all praised his prose, the effortless effect his words had on paper and how real this Emerson man felt like. They didn’t know he was real -he had been the realest person Arthur had ever met- but it didn’t bother him. There was only one person Arthur was hopping might capture the realness of his story and he waited around his phone all day for a sign. But the call never seem to arrive.

Morgana, Leon and Mithian had been the only people invited to the small get together Uther had organized at his home to celebrate the event. Everyone felt slightly out of place with a glass of champagne in hand walking with no destination through the immensity of the Pendragon household. Arthur had seen Leon and Morgana whispering intensely while standing in a corner -surely both of them expecting their conversation would go unnoticed- and he made no comment about it. He escaped from the elegance of the party and was expecting for the cool wind to blew him over when Mithian appeared next to him.

“Congratulations boss” she tells him rising her glass as a mockery toast.

“Don’t call me that” he says. Mithian had been promoted almost a year ago and was now in charge of a small portion of the PR connections the company had overseas. Arthur was certain that in no short time, she would have an office of her own and an assistant of hew own with a proper position according to her professionalism.

“Then congratulations King” she adds, drinking her glass and looking at him with amusement in her eyes. Arthur rolls his eyes and she laughs, holding down his arm while balancing herself on her party shoes. It doesn’t feel as strange as he had feared, having her by his side acting like the friend she had always been but the rules of protocol had hide. “I’m leaving” she tells him once she has stopped laughing.

“I’ll drive you to your home, you can’t leave like this” he says, taking her hand making sure she doesn’t fell on her ass for it.

She looks at him, clearly unamused by the fact he gets to see her inebriated on this elegant occasion. “I mean I’m leaving leaving, to the States” she clarifies. Arthur wasn’t expecting the blow. How could she leave him when he was just starting to understand how valuable her friendship was for him? “Oh, don’t look so hurt” she tells him patting him in the shoulder like a mother, “It’s just across the ocean. You’ll survive without me”

“Hardly” he says with no bitterness in his tone. As much as he can dislike the idea of losing such a good friend and ally, he can’t be upset by the fact she’s going unto a better future.

“Who knows?” she asks, shrugging her shoulders, “Maybe by the time I’m gone you’ll have someone new looking after you”

Arthur avoids her sight and looks past the distant city lights shining far away from the property. Mithian places her head on top of his shoulder and holds his hand with the affectionate tone of a sister. “He’ll read it, he’ll read it and love it and eventually he will call” she says reassuring him about something she can’t know if it will true. Arthur himself doesn’t know if that’s true but for that moment he wishes to believe so. He wishes it with all of his heart.

° ° °

Arthur looks at the clock placed next to his bed, the gleaming numbers telling him is too late to answer phone calls but his brain is functional enough to force his hand to move across the covers and to the stand where his phone vibrates persistently. “Ello?” he asks half asleep.

“Hi” he hears. Arthur looks around his dark room, making sure the details his eyes capture are real and that he is in fact awake in that second... Because Emrys is calling him -has called him- and Arthur had answered him coming from a dream where he had touched the man’s lips with his fingers in a curious daze of tenderness and desire. He thinks his brain might be playing a bad joke at him but when the man repeats his greeting - _Hi?_ \- Arthur is completely woken up and seating on his bed, with his heart about to burst open out of his chest.

“Hi” he repeats.

“Sorry about the time. I shouldn’t have called” Emrys begins to apologize but Arthur cuts him short.

“No” he tells him, “I’ve been waiting for your call” he confesses, not playing this game of mystery with the other any more. He doesn’t want any more secrets, he wants to be bare and open with Emrys even if the other doesn’t feel like it.

“I’ve been meaning to call” Emrys says. “I bought a book a couple of days ago” he begins, “About this bloke called Emerson, little bit broken, little bit feisty. Seemed like a nice fellow, I wished I could meet him”

“You wouldn’t like him in real life. He thinks he’s too perfect for this Earth”

“Can you blame him? I mean, isn’t he a _n abundance of melodious tones wrapped into one core that incites you to be better and be more_?”. Arthur smiles like a fool; listening to Emrys quote his own words about what he felt about him was the most dangerous possible combination for his body to endure at that moment. He felt every cell and every inch of his skin suddenly very aware of themselves as if they were expecting an order any minute now for them to jump into an action Arthur didn’t know what it was.

“Dear god!” Arthur mocks, “The book says that? Who could have written something so bad?”

“I used to know the author actually. Bit of a prat and doesn’t know how to ask for help even when help is being shoved right in front of his face” Emrys says no malice in his voice yet that doesn’t stop the guilty thoughts forming inside Arthur’s chest “But he does write like a God”. Emrys’ compliment fall short at the second time, mostly because is too busy thinking about all the things he wants to say but the words -ironically- seem to be trapped inside his throat.

“Emrys” he whispers.

“Don’t” the other interrupts him. It doesn’t matter what he can say to him because there’s still so much to tell, so much to explain, so much to share between them. They had gone from calling each other every hour every day to complete silence for almost an entire year; the waves and explosions of the changes inside his fractured relationship weight too much for him to act like nothing had happened and be like Emrys said _Don’t_. “I missed you” Emrys says.

Arthur’s heart is about to irrupt from his body. _I missed you, I needed you, I l..._ Arthur stops himself before he can’t finish because he knows very well that’s a word he’s not ready to explore right now. Not when everything that Emrys is it’s still up in the air. “I’m sorry” he says because in the end it’s the only thing that truly matters, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” he repeats until Emrys silences him with a shy shush from his side.

“You are a world renown author who just released his masterpiece. You don’t get to be sad”

“Just say you forgive me and I promise I’ll laugh for ages” Arthur says.

“Oh Arthur” Emrys says tenderly, “I forgave you long time ago, I just wasn’t sure if you had forgave yourself”

Arthur smiles as one single tear falls freely down his cheek -a tear of joy, a tear of hope for what the future might bring to him by the hand of his mystery muse. He had forgave himself. It had took a long time and costed him a lot but he had come to terms with everything he was afraid of and the only thing he wanted now was to celebrate alone side the man that had in one way or another made it possible. “I did” he says smiling from cheek to cheek.

Emrys breathes and Arthur feels already more relaxed by just listening to the sound. “Great” he says, “Now” and his voice switches back to the mischievous tone Emerson had used so many times throughout Arthur’s book, “Let me show you just how great this Emerson man can truly be”

Arthur laughs like he has only done it in his dreams, tilting his head back feeling the pressures of the world erasing themselves from his shoulders. “Do tell me Emrys”

“Merlin” the other says, “Call me Merlin”

 _M-E-R-L-I-N_ Arthur thinks and every sound feels like Christmas and never ending joy in his body.

° ° °

If it didn’t look one hundred percent creepy, Arthur would be pacing up and down right there in the park as the anticipation of waiting practically ate him alive with ever passing second. The file had come with no picture and he had never asked for one but now they were going to meet and Arthur didn’t know what to think. They were both strangers about to unveil their mutual identities to the other, what if they come out disappointed? What if they weren’t what the other had expected them to be? Was Arthur truly that superficial? No, he thought as he left his left leg jump up and down as he expected Merlin’s appearance any second now. He knew he could love the other man even if he turned out to be a one-legged pirate with six taking parrots constantly resting on his shoulders. Who knew? Arthur wondered himself, clearly having lost all control over the cohesiveness of his inner monologue, maybe he’ll like dating a pirate after all? Wouldn’t that be truly exciting?

In the end he had been so lost inside his head with his stupid ideas that he didn’t see Merlin coming and seating next to him in the bench until Arthur feels -and jumps making the man giggle by his lack of grace- when someone pinches his knee. “God gracious!” he says turning around and meeting the bluest, most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Merlin is there next to him -actually there and not as a part of Arthur’s imagination- and he looks ever more afraid than him. Clearly, a scream of shock and surprised had not been the best words he could have chosen for their first face-to-face conversation.

He smiles because he doesn’t need to ask and Merlin smiles back. Both looking back at the other as if it was a challenge to see who will be the first to break apart, probably looking like crazy - _in love-_ for anyone else to see. Does Arthur care one single fuck about what people might think about him at this point? No, he does not.

Merlin clears his throat and gives him something Arthur recognises as a first edition of his book. “I was hoping I could get an autograph from the author himself” he says. For a couple of seconds, Arthur’s brain doesn’t fully compute what the other has said; Merlin’s voice is even more glorious in real life than through the distant and mechanical connection that is the phone line. Merlin rises an eyebrow expectantly and it’s then when Arthur only notices he’s holding a pen and the book is opened in the first page. His words are there for him to see but this time he can read the undeniable truth -that Merlin is indeed the very best- next to the person he was meant to read this all alone. He quickly scribbles down his name, _Love King to Emrys XXX,_ before returning it to its owner.

“So?” Merlin wonders flirtatiously and holding his hand with all the rights he very much has over Arthur’s body, “Does this mean I have to call you Your Majesty now?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and takes a stronger grip to Merlin. “Of course, haven’t you learnt anything yet?”. Merlin actually sticks his tongue out in response and Arthur knows there’s no other place in the world he’ll rather be in right there.

In the end, Merlin’s lips feel differently from what Arthur had imagined and written down -they’re not tender and filled with a sweet taste of amber but instead they’re filled with hunger and want and every cell in Arthur’s body reacts to it in equal measure. It doesn’t bother him that for this one moment, words cannot begin to describe what he feels. Why worry about it? He has a whole life to search for the right words and there’s no rush. They’ll never be a rush for him ever again.

 

THE END.

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics and title were gladly borrowed by In A Moment's Grace by Boy and Bear :) Thank you for reading


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